


it's lonely on the ice

by vardaesque (neonheartbeat)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, M/M, Thorki - Freeform, skating au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-04 18:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonheartbeat/pseuds/vardaesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone's heard that blood bounces on ice. Everyone knows that it's something to do with the temperature difference, how the heat of the blood reacts with the coldness of the ice and rolls away. </p><p>They're wrong. </p><p>When blood comes into contact with ice, it melts the ice and soaks into it, then refreezes, turning the ice into a macabre canvas. Two different elements merge, and become one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s not even four o’clock yet and Thor Odinson is winded. He’s only twenty-seven, but in sports years that’s practically ancient. This practice, he’s already collided with the goalie three times and hit the ice more times than he can count and he is _tired._

The guy standing in the door leading to the ice is not helping matters. He’s wearing a supremely irritated expression and not much else. _Figure skater_ , thinks Thor, skating over to the players’ bench as his teammates start dispersing.

"Excuse me!" The guy’s voice, high and smooth, rings out and Thor looks up, halfway out of his jersey. "Excuse me, I’ve booked the ice for an hour, starting now."

"That’s nice," grunts Thor, and takes his helmet off. The other man’s eyes flicker over him, and Thor stands up. He only has an inch or so on the skater—he’d thought he was smaller. Huh. And now up close, he recognizes the guy—pale eyes, pale pointed face, black hair—it’s Loki, Loki Laufeyson, _the_ Loki Laufeyson, who made headlines when he rose from the bottom at a staggeringly fast rate and almost made it to the Olympics three years ago.

Almost made it. Thor can’t remember why he didn’t, though he was sure it was televised. He was probably busy with his games. And right now it doesn’t really matter.

Loki crosses his arms. He looks a little defensive. “I’ve got a competition in two months. So.” He makes a little shooing motion with his tucked-in hand, tilting his head toward the door and lifting his eyebrows.

Thor gulps down water and wipes his mouth. “Didn’t really wanna know your life story, but okay. Ice is all yours.” He flashes Loki a big, fake grin before turning around and gathering his stuff. Self-centered asshole.

He grabs his bag and pushes open the door. Loki is standing off to the right, arms still crossed, chin tucked down—if Thor didn’t know better, he’d say he was pouting.

He digs his skate into the ice and smiles to feel the scrape and gouge vibrating through his frame. Loki hisses audibly behind him, and Thor ignores him, skating away, leaving furrows in the ice as he tromps out into the lobby and plops down on the benches to unlace his skates.

He hears the Zamboni starting, and he looks out the window. Sure enough, Loki’s standing in the ring, glaring at him through the plexiglass as the ice is smoothed over. He smiles and waves, then turns his attention to packing his skates away.

When he’s done, the Zamboni is gone and Loki’s doing practice laps around the ice.

Huh.

He’s… _good_. Thor watches for a second as he makes another round, then looks at his watch. He’s got nothing going on this afternoon, why not stay and watch?

He lugs his duffel bag back into the rink and sits about midway up, enough to get a good view. Loki finishes a few more laps and glides into the center of the rink, absolutely still, poised like a dancer.

Music blares from the speakers, and Thor recognizes the opening bars to Beethoven’s Fifth. Below him, Loki extends an arm and bends, swaying like a tree in the wind, and starts to move.

Thor watches. He’s not aware his mouth is open until his tongue starts feeling a little dry. Loki is _dancing_ , like he’s on stage at a ballet, but he’s gliding like a well-hit puck across the ice and as he comes up for a triple jump Thor finds himself holding his breath as Loki lands, ice spraying, and continues like it’s nothing.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there. It can’t be more than a couple of minutes, but the music dies down and Loki finishes the performance, winding down gently and gracefully letting his wrists drop and his back straighten. The music dies, and Thor wants to clap, but doesn’t dare.

Loki turns anyway and gives him a venomous look. “Why are you still here?” he calls up.

Thor frowns. He’d rather not get evicted from the rink—that would complicate things. “Wanted to watch. I’ll leave if you want, though.”

Loki closes his eyes and skates backward around the perimeter until he comes over to Thor’s side of the rink. “Come down here,” he orders, muffled against the plexiglass.

Thor obeys, half-jogging down to the barrier. “Yeah?”

"You can stay. But you have to buy me a hot chocolate." Loki grins at him, his tongue just touching his pale pink lips, flushed with exertion. "Deal?"

Thor turns pinker than Loki’s cheeks, and it’s not from exertion. “Uh. Uh, yeah, okay. Deal.”

"Great." Loki drags the word out, like one of his smooth glides, and winks—what the hell?—at Thor before skating back to the center.

Thor stands there like an idiot for a second before grabbing his bag and re-situating himself on the bench closest to the glass. Pop music starts pouring through the speakers, and Loki starts skating to it again.

Halfway through, Thor thinks, this can’t be for a real competition. It just can’t be. It’s too suggestive, too trashy and gaudy and _did Loki just slap his own ass?_

The ice squeaks as Loki comes around front to face Thor, and then he gives Thor a full frontal view of his body as he twists and undulates, his whole body rippling, hips swaying to the music as his skates jerk and twist into the ice.

Thor tries hard to keep a vaguely interested look on his face, even as he realizes he’s not going to be able to stand for a few minutes. That fucking spandex leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Then he sees the smug look on Loki’s face and realizes, _The bastard knows! That son of a bitch is doing this on purpose!_

He’s about to get up and leave, diva skater boys be damned, but it strikes him that this is a personal performance of sorts, and he might as well enjoy it. So he leans back and blows Loki a kiss as he slips past Thor’s seat.

Loki does a double-take, and stares at him. He’s so shocked that he doesn’t remember to turn, and Thor watches in vindictive delight as the Olympic-level figure skater crashes into the plexiglass wall with a loud _smack._

"Ohhhh, _shit,_ " he says, his glee fading as Loki drops out of sight, leaving a bloody smear on the glass. He leaps up, grabbing his towel, and bounces down to the rink door, slipping and sliding across the ice in his street shoes as Loki sits up slowly, blood on his face. "Hey, man, you okay?"

"Don’t touch me!" spits Loki from behind his cupped hands. He sniffs and gags, leaning forward.

"I play hockey. I’ve seen my fair share of busted faces, okay?" Thor crouches down and puts his hand on Loki’s thigh. "Hands down, c’mon. Let me mop you up."

He gets a suspicious look from pale green eyes, but Loki drops his hands and lets Thor dab at his split lip and bleeding nose. “I could sue you,” he managed, through the towel.

"For what? Winking?" Thor takes Loki’s chin in his hands and turns his head gently. It strikes him how very small and pointed Loki’s chin is. "If we’re discussing a lawsuit on the grounds of being a distraction, I am _not_ the prime offender, man.”

Loki glares at him again and snatches the at towel with his long, pale fingers. “Give me that. _You_ ,” he points at Thor threateningly, one hand holding the towel to his nose, “are going to leave the stands, get your shit, and walk out _those doors_ ,” he points to the entrance, “and I do not want to see you again, ever. Understood?”

Thor nods. “Yeah, all right.” He starts to move away.

"Excellent—wait, don’t leave _now_ , help me stand up.” Loki’s skates scrape as he tries to haul himself upright with just one arm, and Thor rolls his eyes and heads back over to him, grabbing him around the chest and trying not to slip.

He gets Loki on his feet and Loki skates off slowly, without so much as a thank you. Typical. Thor stiffly legs it over to the door and back up to the bleachers, where he grabs his stuff and lets the door to the lobby swing shut as another classical piece starts playing, echoing into the arena.

~

An hour later, when Loki is finished, he exits through the lobby and stares in surprise at the lone Styrofoam cup with a lid waiting on the counter. He goes over to investigate, and under the cup is a napkin with a note written on it in neat loopy script.

_Let’s do it again sometime._

_-Thor Odinson_

Loki considers, then tosses the napkin and curiously sips at the cup. It’s hot chocolate, and it’s the perfect temperature and it tastes absolutely incredible, not like the shit he usually gets from here—

He looks up. The snack bar is closed. There’s an open box of cocoa mix tucked against the counter and a wet spoon on the sink. So Thor—he hadn’t bought it, he’d—

He made me cocoa? thinks Loki, and his toes go warm. He fights a giggle and tucks his bag under his arm, walking out into the parking lot. _He made me cocoa. He made me cocoa!_

Once he gets over his giggle fit, Loki decides that yes, he’s not sure exactly what “it” was, but he’s definitely interested in doing it again.

Thor Odinson. He knows that name. Hockey player, only about a year older than him, knee injury in ‘09, benched for a season.

Loki bins his empty cup and slips into the driver’s seat of his black Corvette, leaving the rink behind.

He’s got homework to do.


	2. Chapter 2

It's been two days since Loki's seen Thor. It's not been a good two days.

He's showed up at the rink twice, at four PM sharp, only to find no Thor in the group of hockey players leaving the rink and giving him curious stares. After dejectedly staring into the bleachers, he'd pushed off and went screeching across the rink, carving up the ice as he cut corners and threw himself into the most aggressive performance he'd ever pulled off.

Well, almost pulled off. When he'd almost crashed into the wall again on day two, he caught himself, scraped to a halt, and stomped out of the building twenty minutes early.

Today, he enters the lobby in a terrible mood and everyone scatters. Nobody even asks him for an autograph, and Loki heads to the lockers to change into his skates.

He's just finished stripping and yanking on his skating pants when the door opens and he whirls, ready to tear whoever it is a new one.

It's Thor. Of course it's Thor. He puts his hands up when he sees Loki, in a sort of "don’t shoot" gesture. "Hey! Uh, sorry, don't bite me. Came to get my stuff."

Loki stands up and crosses his arms. "Where _were_ you?"

"I—what?" Thor's edging along to his locker. He's wearing a red hoodie rolled up to his elbows and athletic pants. "You—I thought you said you didn't ever want to see me again."

"That was before you left me hot chocolate," says Loki.

"Oh, so the way to your heart is chocolate. Good to know." Thor grins at him and turns to drag his bag out of his locker. Loki sneaks a glance at his ass. Well, it's more like ogling, actually. He makes sure Thor notices when he turns around.

"You're going to stay and keep me company, right?" he prods.

"Dunno. I might be too _distracting._ " Thor hoists his duffel bag over his shoulder. It's got to weigh fifty pounds, and he lifts it like it's nothing. Loki goes a bit weak at the knees. "Can't have the country's prize figure skater sporting a crooked nose at the championships. How's your face, by the way?"

"It's fine," said Loki shortly. There's heat gathering behind his eyes, a prickling and stinging that has no business being there, and he turns to grab his shirt.

"Hey," says Thor, more gently than a six-three block of solid muscle has a right to be, and sits down on the bench, dropping his duffel bag. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I'm not going to championships," spits Loki. "So if you could kindly not fucking mention it, ever, that would be just great."

"What? Why the hell not?"

"Because, you idiot, ankle injuries tend to fuck up your performance. You should know, you broke your knee a few years back, didn't you? I looked you up." Loki scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"But you're incredible," says Thor, and he sounds like he means it.

"Oh, fuck off." Loki bends down and shoves his feet into his skates, lacing them up. "It's my own decision to not enter my name in, all right?"

"When's the deadline?" Thor doesn’t move, just sits there like a rock as Loki mechanically checks his skates and tightens the laces.

"Three months. I've got a thing before that, a month before the deadline." Loki stands up and grabs his top, yanking it over his head, messing up his hair. He gathers the black mess of it into a ponytail, not caring how it looks.

"Okay." Thor stands up and grabs his bag again, and follows Loki out into the lobby. "Uh, I'm going out of town for the next couple of weeks. Won't be here for the rest of this month and some of next. You still want me to stay?"

Loki grits his teeth and tries not to let any tears spill. He shrugs, not trusting his voice, and opens the door to the rink, starting on his laps, warming up.

Fuck Thor. Fuck him and his nice warm smile and his scruffy beard and his long blond hair and his stupid thick arms and his ass. Loki just wanted to punch him and cry on his shoulder and kiss him all at once and _why was the idiot sitting up in the stands again?_

Thor waves. Loki rolls his eyes and figures he's as warmed up as he'll ever be, then skates into center after hitting the play button on his iPod speaker system. The opening bars to "The Swan" drift out across the ice, and Loki focuses, letting his sight blur a little, and slips into position.

It's almost like a river, the way he goes through his steps and pulls off a perfect triple axel. There's nothing mechanical about him. He's fluid and organic and the slight throbbing in his nose is far, far away.

The music crescendos and he folds down, bent almost double, spinning on his left foot. He can almost hear his mother's voice, telling him gently to _balance, Loki, balance_ and to tuck his elbows in.

He straightens without falling and stares into the lights overhead, back bowed, arms fluid.

_Don't be afraid to fall, Loki. You will fall, but you will stand up again. Falling is not the worst thing that can happen to you._

He takes off again, into a long figure eight, before toeing into a quadruple axel and landing it perfectly.

Loki doesn't realize he's crying until the music stops and he's left in the middle of the floor, chest heaving, tears tracking cold down his face.

Thor is standing against the glass, a blur of red and gold, warm concern written in every line of his face. Loki crouches down for a minute to compose himself, hiding his face in his hands. It turns out to be more like five minutes, and when he looks up, Thor is coming to him, skates on, a Styrofoam cup in one hand.

Loki laughs, because it's ridiculous—they barely know each other and he's bringing him _comfort food_.

Thor comes to a halt and hands Loki the cup. "Hot chocolate doesn't fix everything, but it's damn close."

Loki sips it. "I like having you around," he says, raising an eyebrow. "What do you even put in this?"

"Oh! Uh, just your regular cocoa mix, then a bit of chocolate syrup, and hot milk. My mom's recipe." Thor beams at him, and Loki notices just how blue his eyes are. "Good?"

"It's—yeah, it's really good." Loki finishes the cup and drags his sleeve across his nose. "Ah…thanks."

It sounds terribly awkward on his tongue. Thor smirks, and Loki's face goes hot. "Don’t worry," Thor says, wrapping his hand around the cup Loki's still holding. His fingers are rough and warm and Loki swallows convulsively. "I'm sure with some practice, you'll get better at saying 'thank you'."

"Don't tell me you're going to help me with that too," says Loki, inches from Thor's face.

"I might just," murmurs Thor, eyeing him speculatively. Loki freezes, afraid to move or do anything to ruin this moment—Thor's radiating heat like an oven and Loki wants it, wants Thor to wrap his arms around him and never let go. Any second now Thor's going to lean in and—

"But," says Thor, and Loki stares as he steps away, "you've got another fifty minutes to practice in. So I guess I'll leave you to it."

Loki stands there, watching Thor skate away across the ice, watches the strength in his legs and his lower back as he glides up to the door and starts to step out.

Fifty minutes. Fifty minutes alone in the rink with Thor.

No. It's not worth it. He needs every second of practice he can get.

He groans under his breath, turns, and puts on an Adam Lambert track. Thirty seconds later he's swiveling his hips and rubbing his crotch and sliding across the ice on his shoulders and he knows Thor is watching and he only hopes he inspires as much frustration in that walking tank as Thor's inspired to him.

The track ends, and he doesn't even wait for Thor to say anything, just starts up "Alejandro" and goes at it again.

Forty minutes later, he's soaked in sweat and panting and his legs are shaking from exertion, but he's skated his heart out. He's drained, exhausted, and Thor is nowhere to be seen.

Loki skates to the door  and almost collapses, his legs refusing to work on solid ground. He hobbles back to the lockers, too fatigued to be upset, and starts unlacing his skates with trembling fingers.

"Let me," says a warm, deep voice, and he looks up to see Thor, who quickly kneels down and starts picking at the laces.

Loki doesn't even have the energy to tell him to be careful with his five-hundred-dollar skates. He leans forward and rests his forehead on Thor's shoulder, just breathing.

Thor moves very carefully, so as not to jostle his head, and when he's done pulling off Loki's skates, Loki turns his head to the side and pecks his cheek. "I _like_ you," he pants.

Thor hands him a bottle of water. "Good thing the feeling's mutual. Drink up."

Loki grabs the bottle and sucks at the tip, keeping eye contact with Thor the entire time. Thor's eyes focus on his mouth. Loki makes sure to hollow his cheeks and moan, just a little, and he gulps down most of the water. He lets some of it spill over his chin and seep through his top. "Thanks," he gasps, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"See? You're getting better at it." It takes Loki a second to remember what Thor's talking about. Oh.

"Well, what do you know. Incredible. You should open a daycare. Or an obedience school." Loki caps the bottle and tosses it back at Thor, who catches it in one hand.

"Not really interested in kids or dogs. However, training a certain figure skater might be more along my line of work." He fixes Loki with a blue, stern glare, and Loki's mouth goes very dry.

"Ten minutes," he says, and before he knows what's happening Thor is leaning forward, hands on the bench, mouth pressed to Loki's. He's warm and rough and tastes like spearmint gum, and Loki's first instinct is to open his mouth.

A rough, warm tongue slips past his lips and Loki reaches up with both hands and grabs Thor by the shoulders, lifting his heels and hooking his feet around his hips. Thor growls—actually growls—and bites down on Loki's lip, splitting the barely-healed skin. Loki tastes copper and salt. "Thor," he chokes, and Thor pulls back, pressing his forehead to Loki's.

He chuckles. "I think that's the first time you've said my name," he whispers, and Loki tugs with his feet, trying to get Thor to move closer. It doesn't work, of course—Thor's got at least fifty pounds on him.

Loki whines, a single sharp noise in the room. "Please," he gasps. His pants are entirely too snug and he's about ninety percent sure that if he just started bucking his hips he'd come in no time.

"Ah-ah-ah, behave," Thor chides, and Loki swallows his protests and goes quiet until Thor grins and ducks forward, lifting Loki's shirt over his head and sucking at his nipples until Loki's arching as far as he can without falling off the bench, his breath coming in short little gasps.

"Are you clean?" Loki chokes out, without even thinking, and Thor lays a hard line down with his tongue across to his other nipple.

"Yes," he says, and Loki feels it reverberate throughout his chest. "You?"

"Y—ah, yes, yes, just— _fuck_ —there's, there's _shit_ , in my bag, lube—"

Thor palms him through his thin pants, and Loki arches up helplessly into his hand. He hasn't had sex in months, hasn't had the time, and he's trying not to be humiliated at the state he's been reduced to.

"I'm not gonna fuck you," says Thor, and presses a kiss to the side of Loki's neck as he leans back and takes off his red hoodie, exposing the most ridiculous physique stuffed into a grey T-shirt Loki's ever seen outside of porn and the occasional Calvin Klein model.

While he's still trying to wrap his head around Thor's previous statement, Thor leans back in and kisses him again, working a hand down his pants as he goes. Loki breaks off and groans as Thor's hand finds his cock and the other hand pulls down his pants.

"God, where were you hiding _this_?" says Thor with a grin. His thumb starts rubbing slow circles into the head and Loki fights to keep quiet.

"Aaah…that's a secret," he gasps, and Thor chuckles, leaning into his neck.

"You were gorgeous today," he whispers. "God, all that movement…you're incredible on the ice and you know it, you arrogant little shit."

Loki whimpers and cants his hips up, but Thor keeps him planted firmly on the bench.

"You stay put." He pulls down his own pants and Loki jerks involuntarily at the sight of his cock, full and flushed red and dripping. Thor's stern façade breaks for a second as he sort of grins, a little shy, a little unsure of himself. "You might, uh, wanna get on the floor."

Loki scrambles off the bench and into Thor's lap(falls, really; pants at your ankles are harder to maneuver in than you might think), wrapping his arms around the larger man's neck and thrusting his hips against Thor's. "God, god, fucking just _do_ it, I gotta _come_ —"

Thor grabs both of their cocks in one hand, and Loki almost cries. "Shh, shh," Thor whispers, and places his other hand on Loki's lower back as Loki's fingers tangle in Thor's hair.

They start moving. It's all readjusting at first but then they find a good spot they can both start from and Loki starts groaning, fucking into Thor's hand harder and harder, the head of Thor's cock bumping into his on every single stroke and it's _so good_ —

His orgasm starts coiling up at the base of his spine, and he lets out a high-pitched, frantic sound that makes Thor drop his head and roll his hips harder. "Fuck," Loki manages. "Thor. Thor. _Thor_ I'm gonna come I'm—"

"Come on," pants Thor. "Come on, Loki."

Loki squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a single noise like a sob, and in the next second he's coming all over Thor's shirt and his own bare chest and he moans and shudders, unable to shut up, it's a thing he just does, vocalize everything all the way out till the end and—

He's unaware he's babbling nonsense until he hears a groan, a long, low sound, bringing him back to reality as Thor follows him over the edge and nearly collapses on him, making soft little sounds.

They sit there for a while, both panting, until Loki disengages himself and stands on shaky legs. He's a mess—hair plastered to his face with sweat, semen on his legs and belly.

"Careful," says Thor, and stands up, shucking off his pants.

Loki takes a shallow breath and undresses fully, heading for the showers. "You're coming with me," he says without question, and Thor follows him into the cubicle like a puppy.

After they're clean and damp, they get dressed and pack up. Loki has to borrow a pair of Thor's sweatpants, and grumbles about it while Thor pretends to not notice.

"I want you to come to my thing," says Loki as they're walking through the lobby. He looks paler and thinner than usual, drowning in Thor's clothes. "It's a competition in St. Paul. I want you to come and watch me."

"Do I have to teach you how to ask nicely?" said Thor with a small smile. They walk outside into pale sunlight and Loki frowns.

"I'll pay for your ticket. Lodgings, if you want. Anything. Just—come, okay?"

"Close enough. Hockey season starts around then, but I'll see if I can squeeze it in." Thor tosses his duffel bag into the cab of his red F-250, and leans against the door.

Loki hesitates. "You will?" Thor nods, and Loki's face slowly lights up. "That's—that's, I mean, great, thanks. I'll—I'll have my manager call you."

"Yeah, no problem." Thor blows him a kiss, and Loki gets all flustered.

"It's just that, no one I know has come to my shows in—ages. Not since my mother—"

His words cut off in his throat, and he looks away for a long time.

Thor steps forward, concern in his eyes. "I'll be there. Promise."

Loki nods tightly, his eyes welling. "Sorry. Ah, sorry, can't—" he tries to laugh, clears his throat. "Anyway, yeah. Be there. Bye." He slips into his car and drives off.

Thor watches him go, and makes a mental note to check his schedule as soon as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH HA CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT. AND YOU THOUGHT THIS WAS GOING TO BE CUTE AND FULL OF SEX. 
> 
> Changed the source of the music because I remembered that the DJ in skating rinks does not, in fact, live in the box.
> 
> Also, go check out marty-mc's incredible art for the skating AU on Tumblr. We bounced some ideas off each other and now her art is based on my fic and my fic is based on her art. COMMUNITY.


	3. Chapter 3

The next two weeks pass relatively uneventfully. Thor goes to Duluth for a charity event and comes back with a taped-up broken nose. He checks his email and the first thing he sees is a message from someone named Jim. He opens it and finds directions to an arena in St. Paul, and a note explaining that they've bought him a room at a nearby hotel. Attached are a front-row ticket and a restricted area pass.

Thor considers, then prints out the ticket and the pass. After all, he did promise, and it's not like he's going to pass up a free show.

The next day, he packs a bag, tosses it into the cab of his truck, fires up the engine, and heads out. It’s not an incredibly long haul, but it's a good hour and a half, and when he finally arrives the first thing he does after parking the car is run to the men's room for a leak.

Someone asks him for an autograph as he's washing his hands, and he obliges, a little awkwardly. He pulls his hood down and shoves his hands in his pockets and slips around the crowds and into his seat in the stands, sipping a coffee. He's just on time, and the lights dim as the announcer starts blaring out a welcome, talking about the competition (which is apparently titled "Music on Ice"), blah, blah, blah. Thor scans the benches for Loki and doesn't see him yet.

He's suddenly stricken with the horrible idea that he got the wrong arena, and has to fight the urge to go through his phone for the email. _No, don't be an idiot. You're in your seat, it's the right one, shut up._

As the crowd applauds, the announcer calls out "Two-time U.S. women's champion, silver medalist, ladies and gentlemen, Natalie Rushman!"  The first skater enters the rink and gracefully bows to the crowd. Thor recognizes her immediately—she was on the U.S. Olympic figure skating team last year, won the silver in Vancouver. Russian, he thinks, but changed her name to sound more American because of sponsorship reasons.

Natalie's wearing a fitted black ballet-style dress, and her red hair is piled up on top of her head, dusted with glitter. She's also got black makeup streaked across her eyes and dark red lipstick, her left arm encased in a black sleeve and an orange glove on the end—oh. A swan.

The crowd goes dead quiet as Saint Saens' "The Swan" starts playing, and Natalie goes into a perfect ballet position, gliding away as her arms gesture. Every movement is casual, controlled, and perfect, every spin calculated sixteen steps ahead. She wobbles just a little on her last triple axel, but manages to save it.

The music stops, the crowd goes wild, and Thor claps, grinning. She's _good_. Natalie waves to the crowd and blows a few kisses, and a couple of people throw flowers to her as she skates off the ice.

Thor finds himself wishing he'd brought flowers for Loki.

Another skater performs, and another, and another, and another, and Thor's beginning to get a headache. Half of them are skating to incredibly loud pop music, and the bass is making his teeth rattle.

"And now, our last competitor of the night, three-time Norwegian men's champion, two-time silver medalist, ladies and gentlemen, Loki Laufeyson!"

Thor jerks as if he's been shocked and leans forward as Loki glides out to a roar of applause, bowing and smiling and blowing kisses and waving. He's in a gold and green getup, all rivets and buckles and crossed layers, black slacks, a half-cape of black feathers fluttering over his left shoulder. His hair is down on his shoulders, and Thor cannot begin to imagine the regulations he's had to twist to even get let out onto the ice like that.

Loki skates past the bench and his kohl-lined eyes fall on Thor. He grins and tucks his tongue into the corner of his mouth,  winking. The wink's made even more obvious by the green shadows over his eyes. Thor's face goes hot—someone might see—then Loki's gone and the screaming twenty-somethings behind him are all talking about how _Loki winked at us, oh my god, he totally did—_

Loki skates back to center and kneels on the ice, head bowed. Everyone goes dead quiet. Very softly, the opening notes to "Arrival of the Birds" echo out over the ice.

Loki begins to sway, gently, back and forth in time with the music. As the violins pick up, he rises fluidly and drifts off across the ice, still swaying and bending, his eyes fixed on something no one else can see.

He drops his wrists, pulls in, and pulls off a perfect triple jump, then a quadruple jump immediately after. The audience applauds and quiets down again as he continues in a wide figure 8 across the rink, cape fluttering.

Thor watches avidly as the music crescendos and Loki completes a complicated circular step pattern, finishes, and goes into a crouch spin, his black-gloved hands just barely touching his ankles. He straightens, extends his arms, and goes straight into another quadruple axel.

The crowd cheers, and Loki lets his movement slowly die down with the music, finishing with his arms over his head, poised perfectly.

The arena goes wild. People are cheering, tossing flowers, screaming. Loki smiles widely, bows to all four corners, and skates off to the bench.

Thor sits back and sips his coffee, a grin on his face, and waits for the scores.

"Natalie Rushman, 8.7."

The crowd cheers like mad, stomping.  It's not a real competition, Thor reminds himself. This entire thing is sponsored by someone and the money is all going to charity anyway—

Score by score gets called out, until only Loki is left and no one yet has scored higher than Natalie and Thor's on the edge of his seat, waiting—

"Loki Laufeyson, 8.9!"

The applause is deafening, and Thor sits back with his mouth open, smiling like an idiot as Loki skates out and accepts a wreath and waves at the stands and smiles and blows kisses.

Thor decides that now would be an extremely appropriate time to make use of his pass, and slips out of the stands and down to the lockers.

~

When he gets down there, it's like a mob scene. He can't even see Loki through the crowd of autograph hounds and bodyguards and PA's. So he leans against the wall and waits.

"Okay, that's it, I'm done, sorry guys," he hears coming from Loki. He look over and their eyes meet, and  he swears that Loki's pupils dilate.

"Out," says Loki, his voice strained and high-pitched. "Out, out, _out_ , everyone out, I have to change, I have to pee, I have to shower—"

People scatter instantly, leaving Thor alone in the room. He keeps his eyes fixed on Loki, even as the door swings shut and leaves then alone.

"You came," breathes Loki delightedly, and takes a step toward him. He's still in his costume, but his skates are off and he's in his socks.

"'Course I did." Thor shoves off the wall and grins at him. "You were great, by the way."

"Oh, save it," says Loki, rolling his eyes. "It's just for charity. God."

"They ranked you higher than Rushman and she's incredible." Thor sits on the bench. "She's gonna be on the U.S team this winter. Why don't you give it a go, man?"

"I'm—" Loki looks like he can't decide whether to be flattered or upset.

"The worst that can happen is you don't qualify. And then, y'know, you've proved yourself right. Or you do qualify, you prove yourself wrong, and you get to go to the Olympics."

Loki whirls on Thor, murder in those pale eyes. "Don't you dare start telling me what to do, Thor. You're nobody. You're nothing but a fucking slab of meat on skates hitting shit with a stick."

"I qualified for the U.S. hockey team in '09," says Thor in a voice like an impending storm. "I broke my knee the week before I was supposed to leave. I might not be a pretty boy flapping around to Swan Lake in makeup but I am _just_ as much Olympic material as you are, and I actually do kinda know what I'm talking about."

Loki snorts, but his eyes dart over Thor apprehensively as he draws himself up to his full height and glares down at Loki.

"So don't talk down to me," he growls, and Loki's throat bobs as he swallows.

"I didn't bring you here to fight with me," he says in an injured tone of voice.

Thor chuckles. "Bring me here? I drove here. I could have said no."

Loki's eyes snap back and fix on his face. "But you didn't," he says.

"But I didn't." Thor steps forward and takes Loki's chin in his hand, tipping his face up. "God knows why I did. You're the most difficult person to get along with I think I've ever met."

"You like it, though," breathes Loki, fluttering his eyelashes.

"You're a diva," says Thor.

"And you're a big puppy, and I'm going to keep you around as long as I like," Loki says, and gives him a soft kiss on his taped-up nose.

Thor has him against the wall in two seconds, pinning him by the wrists with one hand and spreading the other over his chest. "I," he snarls, "am _not your pet_."

Loki stares up at him with big, scared eyes, and Thor can't help but notice how huge his pupils are. He ducks his head and starts laying wet, sloppy kisses up the side of Loki's neck, and Loki whines and writhes between him and the wall. " _Please_ —"

"Shut up," says Thor hoarsely, and grabs him by the hair, kissing him hard on the mouth and pushing a knee between Loki's legs. Loki starts rutting against his thigh, making desperate little noises in the back of his throat, and then the door behind them creaks open.

Thor almost has a heart attack and instantly lets go of Loki's wrists, but doesn't turn around. Loki lets out a thin, furious scream and hurls the nearest unsecured object, which happens to be a shoe, at the intruder. There's a thunk and a scared, "Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson," and the door swings shut.

Loki makes a frustrated sound and grabs Thor by the face. "Come back here," he says. He's got half his makeup smeared across his face and his lips are slightly swollen and his hair is stuck to his forehead. "Please."

"Wow, this must be a new record for you," says Thor, still shaken up. "Two _please_ 's and all in the same day. Jesus."

"Oh, fuck you," snaps Loki, and Thor laughs at his disgruntled face, then pins him again, this time by the shoulders.

"Fuck me? Sure, go ahead. You're gonna have to take me down first, though." Thor takes one of Loki's hands and presses it to his chest, letting him feel the solid muscle beneath his hoodie. He doesn't miss how Loki's eyelids drop, or how his mouth goes a little slack. "Good luck with that."

"Come back to my hotel," says Loki suddenly, lifting his head. "My manager booked you a room but you can stay with me if you want." For all he calls Thor a puppy, he's sure doing a good impression of one. "I've got—a huge suite and everything."

Thor hesitates.

"Don't make me say _please_ again. I never set a record I can't break, and four times in one day is way too much." Loki gives him a crooked, almost self-deprecating smile, and Thor has to laugh.

"What's your room number?" he asks.

Loki's eyes light up. "Um, it's the Ambassador's Suite at the St. Paul Hotel. Here—" he scrambles away from Thor, finds a piece of paper in his bag, smoothes it out. "Right here, second floor. Just, uh, you can either follow me there or knock."

"Got it. See you in a few." Thor grins and gives him a kiss on the cheek, and Loki goes pink at the nose as Thor turns and slips out the back door, making sure to watch for cameras.

(There's a bit of a ruckus raised when Loki emerges from the locker with makeup smeared up the side of his face. He explains, somewhat shyly, that he was just _so emotional_ after his score that he cried in the lockers alone, and there's a general "ohh" raised.

Nobody notices the PA in the corner rubbing a strangely shoe-shaped mark on his forehead. It's just as well, too.)


	4. Chapter 4

Loki shuts the door behind him and lets out a sigh of relief. Victor, his handler, has mercifully turned in for the night, and it's only 9 PM. He's got plenty of time to wind down and get ready for Thor.

He hits the shower and scrubs every speck of makeup and sweat off his face, then towels off and leans on the counter, pacing a little.

He can't figure out why his heart is in his throat or why he feels like he's got butterflies in his stomach. For god's sake, he's not some sixteen-year-old—he's fucked dozens of people; men, women, and then some. Loki takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his damp hair. _It'll be just like every other time. He's just another easy lay. Stop acting like he's special. He's not. Not at all, not one bit.  
_

As his heart rate starts to slow, he looks into his bag and frowns. He's got all kinds of sexual apparatus in here—strap-ons, cock rings, vibrators. Somehow he doesn't think Thor's going to be into that—not this time, anyway.

_**This** time? You're not gonna have him over again, you idiot. Fuck him, toss him. Don't get attached._

Loki pulls out an enema kit and eyes it critically. He's fairly sure Thor's going to top, but he doesn't want to come off like he's desperate for it.

_Oh, fuck it. You already practically humped his leg in the lockers. Just clean up and get ready. He'll be here any minute._

He checks the time and hurriedly tears off the little packet of soap, dumping it into the bottle and filling it with warm water.

As he's finishing and wiping his legs off, there's a soft knock at the door. Loki fights the urge to squeal and scurries out of the bathroom, grabbing a fluffy robe on the way out and belting it around his waist.

He peers through the peephole and sees Thor, standing in the hallway, looking down the corridor. Loki leans back, exhales slowly, and lets his heart rate slow before putting on a small smirk and opening the door.

"Hey," says Thor brightly.

"Hi, come in," says Loki, and steps aside. That wasn't what he'd been planning to say at all—he'd been tossing something around in his head like _So you showed up I see_ or _Didn’t get lost on the way up?_ or _You're late_ but that damn smile was so _disarming_.

"Nice place," says Thor appreciatively, looking around. He's changed his clothes, he's wearing a dark blue T-shirt under a black blazer with silver lining in the pockets, and jeans. His hair's pulled back into a loose bun, strands framing his face. Loki steps back and shuts the door, bolting it.

"Nice outfit," says Loki, raising an eyebrow. "Had no idea you actually had a fashion sense."

"Oh, I'm full of surprises," says Thor with another infectious grin. "I like your outfit too."

Loki turns pink and can't think of anything to say. He's sure there's some witty retort that exists for a comment like that but at the moment it's escaping him.

Thor takes off his jacket slowly, never taking his eyes off Loki. Carefully, he drapes it over a chair, then starts rolling his sleeves up. Loki swallows hard.

"You're adorable when you're flustered," Thor says softly, and Loki flushes again. "That, that pink color. It's a good look."

Loki drops his robe, lifting his chin and staring Thor in the face. Thor tilts his head and crosses his arms, letting his eyes drift over Loki's body.

"Did you know when you blush it shows on your collarbones?" he asks, stepping forward and brushing Loki's neck with a thumb. Loki shivers. He wants to beg, to drag Thor by his stupid hair to the bed. Instead he waits.

Thor drops his hand, brushes over Loki's nipples. If Loki wasn't ready before he is now, his cock hard and pointing at Thor. Thor grins and moves closer, trapping Loki's cock between their bodies. Loki stifles a whimper and cants his hips up, once, enough for the friction to give him something.

"Ah-ah-ah, none of that," says Thor, and winds his hand into Loki's still-damp hair, tilting his head back and nibbling on his jawline. A very, very small part of Loki's mind, the one that's not consumed with Thor, is thinking that Thor would make a fantastic dom, who knew, all that dumb hockey player vanilla façade _fuck_ —

Thor's warm lips close on Loki's earlobe, and a moan slips out before Loki can stop it. "Fuck. _Fuck_ , Thor, just, fucking, the _bed_ —"

Thor steps away, eyes narrow. Loki, for one instant, thinks that Thor is decidedly _not_ the kind of man he thought he was, and in the next instant he decides he doesn't care because Thor is unbuttoning his shirt and nodding to the French doors that separate the bedroom from the sitting area.

"Go in. Get on the bed. Wait for me."

Loki doesn't need to be told twice. He scampers through the doors and climbs onto the four-poster, kneeling with his legs apart and his palms spread on his thighs.

His heart is racing and his cock is flushed, heavy and insistent between his legs. Loki runs a hand down his belly, intending to get in a few good strokes before—

"Hands off," orders a voice, and Loki jerks his head up and drops his hand. Thor's standing in the doorway, completely naked, his hair still tied back. Loki can't decide where to look first.

"Sorry," he squeaks.

"Oh, you will be." Thor grins and advances, and Loki stares up at him.

"God, you're gorgeous," he whispers, and runs his hand down Thor's chest, over his belly, fingers trailing over the smattering of golden hair leading down to his cock. "God."

"That's something I've never been called," quips Thor, and goes in for another kiss. Loki pushes up with his knees and wraps his arms under Thor's arms and around his chest, hugging him close.

"Thor," he gasps when his mouth breaks away. "Thor, please—" _Fuck_ , he said it. Thor doesn't seem to care, though, and he gently pushes Loki onto his back, opening his legs. For a second, Loki's confused, and then he realizes what Thor's intending to do as a soft pair of lips start mouthing at his cock.

He splutters and bucks his hips, his fingers curling into the bedspread. Thor hums and licks a wide stripe up to the crown, and then he pulls back Loki's foreskin and lingers just under the head, tongue playing at the most sensitive spot he can find.

Loki lets out a string of choked, high-pitched noises, and twists to the right, his torso taut and shaking, his hands still clenched around the duvet. "Tho— _Thor_ , god, _god_ , Thor—" People don't _do_ this for him. Loki's always the one on his knees, always the one giving it because he likes to but ho-lee- _shit_ it's good being on the other end—

"Mmm," rumbles Thor, and opens his lips, carefully easing Loki's cock into his mouth as Loki struggles not to thrust upward.  Loki looks down and sees Thor's lips wrapped around his cock, his nose pressed against Loki's skin.

"Oh, god. God." He audibly moans as Thor's cheeks hollow and he pulls back, a pair of blue eyes smiling up at Loki. Thor winks, and Loki has to smile back, because how can he not?

Thor's tongue starts moving, agonizingly slowly, and Loki arches off the bed again, twists sideways, and hisses through his teeth as Thor starts bobbing his head between Loki's thighs.

Loki pushes himself up and grabs Thor by the hair, forcefully fucking into his throat, too desperate for release to care much about Thor at this point. His orgasm is curling at the base of his spine and he's trembling, nearly on the brink, when Thor gags. Loki wants to kick him for it. Instead he resigns himself to letting go of Thor's head and letting Thor slide off him, coughing, eyes wet, lips swollen.

"Someone's eager to get off," jokes Thor, when he can talk. His voice is hoarse, and he climbs up onto the bed. Loki scoots backward.

"Oh, shut up," he says, but there's no heat behind it. "Are you going to fuck me or do I have to call up a groupie?"

Thor places his hands on either side of Loki's head, so that he's crouched over him, trapping him down. "So I'm not a groupie? Wow. I'm honored."

Loki feels heat flood his face. "I mean—no. Yes. I don't know what you are."

"Hockey player," says Thor, raising an eyebrow. "And you're coming to one of my games next week."

"Are we really having this conversation now?" Loki demands, and bounces, pushing his hips up against Thor's. Thor simply lifts his ass in the air and gives him a grin.

"C'mon. Promise? I'll get you a ticket."

"Thor—" Thor's mouth starts working on his neck, and Loki groans as Thor sucks at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. "Don't you _dare_ give me a hickey—"

"Too late," says Thor cheerfully, as his lips break suction with a _pop_. "Should have promised to come to a match. Guess I'll have to give you a matching one over _here_ —"

"Fuck you, fine, I'll come, I promise." Loki glares up at him, trying his hardest to look pouty.

"Oh, you sure will," says Thor darkly, and slips a hand between their bodies, a finger rubbing over Loki's entrance.

" _Shit_ ," says Loki, and tries to laugh. "That's the—worst—ah—pun I've ever— _nngh_!"

"Where's your lube?" asks Thor, his fingers working over Loki's ass.

"Ah—uh, table there—" Loki jerks his head to the left and Thor crawls over, finds the lube, and spreads a liberal amount over his fingers.

"You said you were clean. You want me to use a condom?"

Loki thinks about Thor's come dripping down his legs and almost says no. Almost. "Yeah. Same drawer."

He hears the foil crinkle and sits up, running a hand over his face, trying to compose himself as Thor rolls the condom down his cock and tosses the foil in the bin next to the bed. "You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, yeah. I just—haven’t actually let anyone—I mean, nobody's fucked me in a while." Loki offers a small, nervous grin, while mentally chastising himself for his wording.

_Nothing special. He's nothing special._

Thor moves closer and opens Loki's legs, rubbing small circles into his pale skin. "If I hurt you, tell me," he says, and Loki nods.

A finger presses against his ass again, smooth and slick and wet. Loki relaxes, letting it push past the tight ring of muscle. He lets out a soft breath as Thor presses a kiss to his side and curls his finger, brushing against Loki's prostate.

Thor rubs and teases until Loki is flushed to his chest and moaning, and then he adds another finger. Loki groans and shudders, trying to adjust, and Thor shushes him and spreads his free hand on Loki's belly, thumbing at the sharp angle of his hipbone. "Got you," he murmurs, and Loki relaxes enough for Thor to add a third finger.

Loki tries hard to relax as Thor rubs over his prostate gently, biting down hard on his lip and whimpering. "God, god. Uhhhh. Mmm."

The fingers in his ass twist suddenly and Loki's cock twitches, smearing precome all over his belly. " _Nngh!_ Thor—"

"Yeah, I think you're ready," says Thor, and withdraws his fingers. Loki feels his hole flutter once, around empty space, and then the head of Thor's cock is pressed up against him and Thor is lifting Loki's thighs, bending him in half, tucking a pillow under his hips. Loki wiggles his ass in a desperate attempt to take it, and Thor laughs. "Good thing you're flexible."

"If I'm not limping after this you're gonna have to come back and—" Loki's sentence is choked off as Thor presses into him, ending in a strangled sound as the air is crushed from his lungs and a shock tingles through his whole body, making his toes curl. God—he's huge, fucking _huge_ , he's gonna break him in half—

"Oh, god," whispers Thor, his throat working and his head falling forward, blond hair obscuring his face. "Good. God." He bottoms out, breathing heavily for a second, and Loki tries to ground himself. "You good?"

"Give me a second," gasps Loki, trembling under Thor. He takes a few more breaths, brings a fist up to his mouth. He's completely forgotten what this is like, and he's terrified he's going to come in eight seconds—he can feel Thor's fucking _heartbeat_ in him, god—

Thor gently rotates his hips, and Loki splutters and bucks. "That okay?" he asks.

Loki manages to get the word _yes_ out somewhere in a string of expletives and unintelligible gibberish, and Thor racks up the pace a notch, every stroke slamming against Loki's prostate, again and again until Loki is shaking and his orgasm's coming so fast he's not sure he'll be able to stop it.

He's so close, right on the edge, and he grips Thor by the neck and snarls, "Don't _fucking_ let me come yet." Thor makes an angry sound through his teeth, but he slows, puling almost all the way out of Loki, and holds him there until Loki slumps into the mattress, panting.

"I'm not going to let you come. Not until you're begging me for it," says Thor hoarsely, and shoves back into Loki. The sound it tears from Loki's throat is desperate, verging on distressed, but Thor croons and soothes and teases until Loki's pants turn into low, hard moans and he's back where he started, right on the edge again.

Thor pulls out again, pushing Loki's hair out of his face. "I can do this all night," he says with a grin that's borderline feral, and pushes in again.

Loki loses count of how many times Thor brings him to the edge and pulls him back, and he's beginning to think that this was either the best or the worst decision of his entire life. Several times he tries to hide the fact that he's about to come, but Thor somehow always knows, the bastard, and stops him. He whines and pouts and snarls, all to no avail.

"How the fuck are you doing that?" snaps Loki in frustration as Thor stops him yet again.

"You're an open book," answers Thor, ducking his head down and sucking at his nipples until both of them are hard. Loki groans, biting on his lip again. "And I'm a good reader."

"Don't make me beg," says Loki so quietly it's almost inaudible.

"Oh, I will. I won't tell anyone though. Just you and me. Our little secret." Thor bends down again, between Loki's thighs, and Loki takes advantage of the position to wrap his legs around Thor's waist and flip him over with a grunt, pinning him down. Thor raises an eyebrow, but lies there complacently as Loki starts fucking himself on Thor, bouncing up and down and gasping.

As soon as he's on the brink, so close to his orgasm that is vision is pracically flickering, Thor breaks Loki's hold on his wrists, grabs him by the hips, and lifts him up so that he's gasping and writhing on the very tip of Thor's cock.

"You behave yourself," Thor growls, straining, his arms taut with thick muscle. Loki resorts to kicking and snarling, his speech slurring into an incoherent smear of noise. None of it budges Thor an inch, and Loki eventually gives up and slumps down, defeated.

Thor pulls Loki down on him, hard. The new angle sends a shock through Loki's belly, making him keen and jerk wildly, his back arching. "Fuck—Thor— _fuck_!"

"You wanna come, you gotta ask nicely," gasps Thor, sweat glistening on his lip. "You can do it."

Loki can't remember why he doesn't want to ask nicely. He can't remember anything. He's not even Loki Laufeyson anymore, he's just a writhing mess of limbs and sweat hell-bent on wringing an orgasm out of the cock in his ass.

He shakes himself, bringing himself back, and one hand goes to his own neglected cock. Thor smacks his hand away. "Oh, no you don't."

"Thor," Loki wails. "Please." Shame floods him, he's lost and Thor's won, this isn't _fair_ —

"Please what?" Thor rumbles, and Loki slams his fists down on Thor's broad chest, like a child throwing a tantrum.

"Fuck you, you know, fuck, _ah_ —" A warm hand is wrapping around his cock. "Ah. Mmm." Loki cants his hips a little, and Thor pulls his hand back, just out of reach. He rolls over, keeping Loki close, until he's on top again and Loki is spread out under him.

"Say it," he demands, and Loki flings an arm across his face, humiliated.

"Please let me come," he whispers, defeated.

"Hold on to my shoulders," says Thor, and Loki's so confused by this request that he does as he's told, arms under Thor's, gripping the back of his shoulders.

Thor blows out a deep breath, and there's a split second of absolute terror on Loki's part before Thor starts slamming into him, pulling almost all the way out on every thrust before bottoming out again.

"Shit!" chokes Loki, and Thor turns his head, a hoarse _hhu-uuhh-uhh_ marking every thrust as he buries his face in Loki's neck.

He's tensing again, his belly aching, nearing the point of no return. "Thor—"

"Augh!" Thor fucks him even harder, spurred on by Loki's frantic noises, until both of them have slid up to the headboard. "Fuck, uunngh, fuck c'mon Loki c'mon you can do it you—"

It's enough. Loki keens and comes harder than he thought he was capable of, his body wracked with the sheer force of his orgasm as thick white ropes of come splatter on his belly and chest. His vision practically whites out. Thor keeps fucking away until Loki is trembling and limp, and grunts, "Good?"

When Loki nods, Thor grimaces, lets out a single low moan, and slowly goes still, his breathing slowing, his blond hair stuck to his face. Carefully, he disengages and pulls off the condom, tying it and tossing it into the garbage, and then he crawls up and flops down next to Loki, chest heaving.

Neither of them say anything. Loki's legs are shaking and he feels like he's been emptied of everything. He doesn't realize he's crying until Thor pushes up on one elbow to reach over and cup his cheek.

"What's wrong?" he asks softly. "Hey, Loki. Hey."

"Nothing. I—I don't know," Loki stammers, and throws his arm over his face, curling into a ball to face away from Thor.

"Be right back," says Thor, and the bed gives as he stands up. Loki stays in the fetal position, silent tears tracking across the bridge of his nose and into his right ear.

_What the hell just happened?_ he thinks to himself. _What the hell's happening?_

Thor comes back and sits down on the bed, a wet washcloth in his hand. Loki sits up slowly and takes it from him, wiping his legs off, still shaking a little.

"What was that you said about limping?" Thor cracks a half-grin.

"Oh, shut up." Loki winces and extends a leg. "Congratulations. I don't have to yell at you for doing a half-assed job."

"I never do anything half-assed," says Thor with a completely straight face. "It's the whole ass or nothing."

"God, your jokes are _terrible_ ," groans Loki, slapping him with the washcloth. Thor dodges and ducks and steals a kiss, and Loki lets them both crash onto the bed again, tangling his arms and legs around Thor like some kind of clinging vine to a brick wall.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" asks Thor, after a long silence.

"Going home. I live over in Minneapolis. Not far from here." Loki shoves his face into the crevice between Thor's chest and the bed, wondering how to make Thor stay without acting clingy. "I'm freezing, let's get under the covers."

Thor grumbles about having to move but they eventually end up buried to their ears in Egyptian cotton sheets and a thick duvet. Loki waits until Thor's eyes are closing, and then he murmurs, "Where do you live?"

"Saint Cloud," Thor says after a while, sleepily. "And 'm glad we met. Monticello. Mmm." He scoots closer to Loki and drapes a thick, warm arm across his body.

Loki slowly allows himself to close his eyes as Thor's breathing becomes regular and slow. Monticello. The Moose Sheritt. Yes, that was where they'd met.

He wondered if Thor practiced there regularly or not.

He wondered why he cared whether Thor practiced there regularly or not.

Lulled into sleep by only the soft breathing of Thor (a man his size, you'd think he'd snore but that didn't appear to be the case), Loki drifted off, comforted by the sensation of a protective arm around his waist.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains mentions of disordered eating and drug use. Please proceed at your own discretion.
> 
> This is just a short little update before I get to work on the life-ruining feelings fest that is going to be Chapter 6. You have been warned.

Loki groans and stretches, not fully conscious yet. There's a delicious ache in the muscle of his thighs and back, and he rolls over, burying his face in the empty pillow next to him.

Wait. That can't be right—

He sits up, raking black hair out of his eyes and staring at the empty bed, blinking owlishly in the bright sunlight bathing the entire room in a wash of pale gold. The clock reads 10:46 AM, and he remembers he's supposed to be heading back to Minneapolis—

Thor. Where the hell is Thor?

Loki gets out of bed and limps to the door, peeking into the sitting area. Nothing. There's no sign of Thor—his clothes are gone and everything is pristine.

He's gone. He left. What the fuck, why did he leave? An unpleasant twisting sensation in his gut forces him into the nearest chair, where he draws his knees up to his chin and tangles his fingers in his own hair, trying to make sense of the disjointed thoughts racing through his head.

_He doesn't matter he's just another fuck no he's not he's HE HATES ME HE HATES ME HE LEFT ME ALONE I'm a horrible person I did something did I do something? did I say something wrong and make him leave no it's not me it can't be me I hate him and I'm not going to his stupid game I'm going to fucking kill him_

Tears prickle hot under his eyelids and he sniffs hard, trying desperately not to cry. It's not fair. How dare Thor treat him like he meant something and disappear without even a note? How dare _anyone_ treat him like this—he's going to kill someone, trash the hotel room, and _then_ he's going to go home and find that bag of blow he knows is still in his desk even though he told his therapist he'd thrown all illicit substances out of the—

The door opens and Thor steps in, fully dressed and carrying a huge platter of food. "Morning," he says cheerfully. Then he takes in the scene before him; Loki naked and curled up in the fetal position on a chair, nose red, eyes wet, hair tangled in an inky mess over his eyes. He carefully lets the door shut with a click. "Uh. Are you okay?"

Loki stares at him emptily for a full five seconds. "You went. To go get breakfast."

"Yeah." Thor sets the tray down on the coffee table, eyeing him with concern.

Concern. Of all the things—anyone else would be wondering if Loki was insane, looking for the easiest way out of the room, edging away. He knows. He's seen it before.

Loki crumples his fists into his eyes and takes deep, full breaths, trying to hold himself together.

"Loki?" He can hear Thor shifting, taking off his jacket and, and the smell of the food is making him nauseous.

"I thought you left me," Loki bleats, like a pathetic child finding a parent in a crowded mall.

"Without eating _breakfast_? What, do you think I'm crazy?" Thor's voice is warm, and Loki wants to wrap himself in it. He looks up. "I mean, there's only one time I ever did that—this girl I met in, god, must have been New England in '08. Anyway, she told me she was on the pill and I went to pull out and she, like—" Thor mimes hugging and his eyes widen, "—she held me in and yelled 'PUT A BABY IN ME, BIG DADDY!' and I grabbed my pants and ran out that door so fast  you could have blinked and missed me."

Loki snorts and lifts an eyebrow. "I didn't know you were bisexual," he says.

Thor turns a little red and rubs the back of his neck with his hand. "Yeah. I'd appreciate it if, you know, you didn't make that public. It's all well and good for you, I mean, you're a figure skater, you've got glittery costumes and shit, you can be out and proud and whatever but, you know. Hockey. Red blood and beer and fighting and all that. Very masculine."

"You're the most masculine person I've ever met," says Loki, just shy of peevish.

"Right, no, wrong word. Uh. Very _heterosexual_." Thor's blush deepens. "You know. Socially acceptable for a defenceman on the Wild."

"I'm not gay," Loki informs him, and lowers his legs to the floor. He's suddenly aware he's still very naked and it's a little cold in the room. "I'm pansexual. And a month ago I would have assumed you had no idea what that meant—"

"You experience sexual attraction toward people of all sexual orientations and all binary and non-binary categories." Thor looks extremely pleased with himself.

"Show-off," grumbles Loki, and picks up a slice of toast, nibbling at it. The nausea has passed and he's actually pretty hungry, come to think of it. Thor grabs a fork and starts shoveling in eggs and bacon.

"So, you limping?" asks Thor, grinning at him around eggs.

"Oh, shut up. Yes." Loki swallows and picks up a mug of black coffee, crossing his bare, thin legs. His hands are shaking a little, and he sees the bright blue as Thor's eyes flicker to his hands and back to his own food. "My coach is going to give me hell for it."

Thor sets his food down. "Mmm. So's your makeup artist. I hope you don't have a competition soon."

"What—?" Loki touches his face and frowns at Thor's deepening smirk. He rushes to the bathroom and flicks the lights on, staring at himself.

A huge hickey is blooming high on his neck and his skin is marked and creased from lying in the rumpled bedsheets. Loki fumes silently and turns as Thor comes in, stripping his shirt off lazily.

Loki forgets what he was going to say. Thor's entire torso is covered in scratches and bites and his neck is bruised under the fall of blond hair. "Holy shit," he says instead. "Turn."

Thor obeys and Loki takes in the red scratches pointing to his spine and smirks, leaning against the counter. "I suppose I gave as good as I got."

"Maybe." Thor turns his head. "You can do whatever you like to me, you know. I don't have a makeup artist. Bruises come easy on the ice, and no one asks questions."

Loki shifts with a soft sigh as his cock stirs. "Anything I like?"

Thor turns around fully and comes to stand between Loki's legs, hands on the counter. "Anything," he breathes, and presses his forehead to Loki's. "You. Like."

Loki fights a moan. He's uncomfortably hard now, and his head is spinning, and he wants nothing more than to grab Thor and wrestle him to the carpet and—

"But you should probably eat something first," says Thor conversationally, and steps away with a grin.

He disappears through the door. Loki stares after him for a split second and then he scurries after him, still limping a little. "You're a goddamn tease," he snaps, and crams a bagel into his mouth, chewing furiously.

Thor finishes his own breakfast and slowly takes off the rest of his clothing, stopping whenever Loki stops eating, and only continuing to strip when Loki starts eating again.

(Loki doesn't realize he's just eaten a full meal for the first time in years.)

He drags Thor back to the bed and has no idea where to begin with him. So he touches him, every inch of him, fingers dragging over hard muscle and the soft skin under his navel and his dusky nipples and his collarbones, until he's memorized the texture of Thor's skin.

Loki finds certain erogenous zones, little places that seem to have a direct connection to Thor's dick. He finds these spots and he plays Thor like an instrument—his inner thighs, the underside of his pectorals, the spot under his Adam's apple.

When he's done, Thor is on his back, precome smearing on his belly, sweat on his lip, eyes dilated so widely the blue is nearly gone. "God, Loki, God," he pants, and Loki wants to fuck him, wants to bottom out and fuck him until he cries and gasps and begs.

Instead, he grabs the lube, pulls Thor up to sit upright, and slathers both their cocks with lube as he climbs into Thor's lap and wraps a hand around him. "Give me yours," he says, and Thor holds Loki steady with one hand and grabs his cock in the other, loosely fisting him in a few slick strokes.

Loki hisses and lifts up, trying to get more friction, but Thor chuckles. "All right, all right. You—"

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a moan as Loki returns the favor, teasing Thor with a grip much less tight than it could be. "How do you like _that_ , you asshole—"

Thor grips Loki tightly and Loki moans, burying his face in Thor's shoulder. He tries to pump his hips, but Thor stills him with the other hand and whispers, "No, let me. Head back, c'mon."

It's a herculean task to pull his face out of Thor's neck but Loki manages it, and tangles his free hand in Thor's hair as he tries to find his rut. " _Aahh_ , ahh. Hold on. _Unngh_. Slower, and, and give me more, more movement—"

Thor slows and starts again, twisting his wrist at the tip and letting his fingers slide over the pink head of Loki's cock before pushing back down. "Don’t forget about me," he growls, and Loki instantly returns the favor, frantically pulling at Thor's cock. "Bit faster—uhhh—uhh, _yeah_ , that's good."

"You're gonna come in five seconds," gasps Loki, through a strangled web of noise. "You're, _uh_ , gonna come before me—"

Thor's grip tightens and he speeds his pace, and Loki lets out a high-pitched, short moan, floundering for a second before pulling faster at Thor. "What was that, Loki?" gasped Thor, smiling.

"I said—you're gonna—gonna—" Loki squeezes his eyes shut, desperately trying to hold off. " _Unnghh_ , come, you, gonna come, you're, _Thor_ , Thor _I'm gonna come I'm gonna_ —"

"Together, c'mon, you can do it," pants Thor, slowing his pace by a fraction. It's just enough to keep Loki on the brink and he squirms and groans and sweats until Thor's jaw clenches and his eyebrows draw down and he grimaces and Loki knows that's it, he's hit his peak—

Loki lets out a low, haggard groan and comes right as Thor does, spilling over Thor's cock and Thor's belly. Thor's first spasm hits Loki in the chin, painting his cheek with a streak of white, and the rest splatters over his belly.

Both of them collapse sideways onto the bed. Loki's hand is still in Thor's hair. They breathe together for a while, and then Thor turns over and wraps his big arms around Loki's waist, face planted on his side. Loki lets his hands wander through Thor's hair, lifting it, petting it, stroking it.

"Are you playing with my hair?" asks Thor from somewhere near Loki's belly."

Loki freezes and says, "No," immediately. Then, "Yes. Why?"

"Nothing. I like it. Want to shower?" Thor pushes himself up and Loki follows him, eyes raking over the other man's body.

"Yeah, lets. We've got to be out of here by one, anyway."

~

One good thing about hotels is that they never run out of hot water. Loki and Thor stay in the shower for more than half an hour, and when they finally tumble out of the bathroom, damp and clean, it's almost one and Thor hurriedly gets dressed in his clothes from the night before.

Loki throws on a pair of jeans, a V-neck sweater and a pair of boots, and Thor helps him pack his suitcase. "I wish you didn't play hockey," says Loki, tying his hair back. "I'd hire you as my PA. Where the hell did you learn to pack like this? Everything is sideways but everything _fits_."

Thor packs the last of Loki's pants and shuts the suitcase. "My mom taught me a couple of tricks."

"Your mother seems to be a veritable fountain of wisdom," says Loki dryly. "Hot chocolate, and now this."

"What, didn't your mom ever teach you anything useful?" teases Thor.

Loki goes very still.

_(arms out and neck high, Loki—keep your form correct and don't forget to keep your wrists flexible, you're a skater but you are also a dancer an artist a gymnast a performer—_

_Skates hung on the back door of the house_

_Snow on the ground, a fire crackling inside to warm up to once practice was over_

_The way she carved the ice of the arenas into perfect swirls and figure-eights, like magic_

_The way she smiled at him when he won his first award_

_The way she'd cried when she'd found his stash in the closet it had been one of the coldest nights of the year and he screamed at her to get out to leave to **just go away** black ice on the road home and she'd been driving and hadn't seen it _

_because she'd been thinking about him and not herself_

_The way a car can twist around a concrete pole at 70 miles an hour)_

"Loki?"

He looks out the window, eyes dull. "I'm fine. I—I need to go home, is all."

 _To his house_ , he corrects himself mentally. There's a difference.

"Right. Okay, I think that's all your stuff." Thor picks up the heavy suitcase with one hand and heads for the door. If he notices anything strange about Loki's behavior, he doesn't mention it.

Outside, Victor, a tall man with a strange European accent and a green parka, gives Thor a scathing look and had a quick conversation with Loki. Loki comes away with a smirk and points to his own car, the black Corvette parked in the back.

"Over there. Oh, you parked next to me." Loki gives Thor's truck a look as Thor shuts the back door of the Corvette, suitcase stowed inside. "That thing must get awful mileage."

"I'll have you know she does, and I love her anyway." Thor pats the fender lovingly. "What did Victor want?"

"Oh, just giving me a talk about having guests in my hotel rooms. The usual." Loki leans against the truck. "He seems to think I'm an uncontrollable diva with no sense of propriety."

Thor raises an eyebrow and Loki gives him a sour look. "I'll have you know I can behave very well when I want to."

"Okay, prove it. Two weeks from now. We're playing the Jets in Manitoba. I'll get you a ticket. You behave and I'll make it worth your while." Blue eyes smile at him and Loki rubs his nose self-consciously.

"Fine. But I better not be crushed to death in a raging mob of drunk blue-collar guys," he says.

"But that's the best _part_ ," says Thor innocently, and winks at Loki as he opens the door to the truck and climbs in. "See ya, Loki," he calls down as he backs out.

Loki raises a hand to wave as the Ford pulls out of the lot and onto the road, then catches himself, then decides that he _does_ want to wave after all—but by the time he does Thor is already down the road and out of sight.

"Fuck," he swears quietly, and kicks at a rock before nodding to Victor, slipping into his own car, and driving off toward home.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay, but I've been horribly busy with life in general, and I'm posting this the night before I fly to Colorado for a ski trip. If this chapter seems choppy or awkwardly paced it's because I literally sat down on Saturday, got half of it down, worked a seven hour shift on Sunday, came home, and wrote the rest of it, minimal editing. I'll clean it up later, but I figured enough people were already waiting long enough.
> 
> Oh, and this chapter contains explicit drug use and again, mentions of disordered eating. Proceed at your own discretion.

Loki's house is empty when he arrives—as usual. He parks and drags his suitcase into the foyer, shivering in the brisk air.

He wishes Thor was there.

The house is dark and cold, and feels too big—the shadows and spaces seem to push down on Loki, threatening to smother him. He locks the front door and pulls his luggage up the stairs and into his expansive master suite, dumping it on the floor and turning up the thermostat.

Loki is always cold, except when he's on the ice.

He sits on the floor and waits for the heat to kick in before he showers, and as he waits, his cat nudges the door wider and enters the room, purring, her wide amber eyes blinking lazily.

He smiles and extends a hand. "Hello there, Freyja. Missed me?"

She chirps and pushes her head against his hand, and he rubs her head. Freyja's an extremely vocal cat, always chirping and "talking" and yowling at him. "You hungry? Let's get you something, huh?"

Freyja follows him back down to the kitchen, purring and winding her brown body between Loki's long legs as he opens the fridge and takes out her wet food, dumping it into her bowl. She crouches down and starts eating.

She'd been a gift from his mother, after his first quiet trip to rehab—said it would keep him company, give him something to work towards and take care of. A little brown shelter cat with big yellow eyes, sweet and warm and—

Loki fights a thick knot in his throat and kicks the fridge shut.

He wishes he'd given Thor his number.

He wishes there was someone else in this huge, empty house to talk to besides the cat and his own reflection.

Leaving Freyja in the kitchen, he trudges back upstairs and into the shower, running the water as hot as it can possibly go.

~

Three days later, he receives an email with a print-out ticket to the Wild/Jets game in Manitoba. Loki prints it out and buys a first-class plane ticket to Winnipeg after deciding he'd rather not drive for six hours.

He makes his way downstairs, feeds the cat again, and watches reality TV until he falls asleep, curled up on the sofa. He wakes up when Freyja jumps up and curls against him, purring like there's a motor in her tiny body, and he wakes again when the afternoon sun hitting him in the face is enough to rouse him.

His phone rings and he answers. It's someone wanting an interview, and he manages to sound aggrieved and put out enough that they apologize for disturbing him and hang up.

Loki feels like the pure vitriol that's fueled him for the past year and a half is leaking out of him. It's too much effort to be nasty to people; every time he tries he keeps seeing Thor's big hurt eyes in his mind.

"Fuck you and your stupid face," he growls at the wall, and drags himself off the sofa to the kitchen, where he picks at a bagel and manages to get down some fruit before heading to the shower for the first time in two days.

He stares at himself in the mirror and realizes just how thin he's become. A shudder runs through him and he grabs his elbows and sits on the edge of the tub. _No wonder I'm always cold. No insulation. Like the doctor said._

"Prrrrrup?" asks Freyja, poking her head through the bathroom door and interrupting his train of thought.

"Oh, you," he says tiredly, and starts the water. "Stay if you like, then."

She hops up on the counter and sits sphinxlike, eyes nearly shut. She doesn't move, not even when he steps out an hour later and towels off.

Loki throws on some clean clothes and decides he'll try to eat something else. Something small, but it'll be a start.

After eating a few slices of turkey, he calls up the neighbors and asks if their daughter could possibly watch the cat while he goes out of town for a day or so. "If it's not too much trouble, that is—I might be gone for a day or three days, and I'm just a little nervous."

 _Leah!_ calls the mother on the other end of the phone. _Leah, Mr. Laufeyson wants to know if you want to watch Freyja again. Yeah? Okay, I'll tell him._

Loki thanks her and hangs up, breathing a sigh of relief. He likes Leah and he always tries to have her watch Freyja when he's out. She's awful with kids but great with animals; she's got waist-length black hair her mother's always giving her grief about and a nose ring her father hates and overlarge eyes that look even bigger because of the black eyeliner she's so fond of wearing.

She's also entirely nonchalant about his fame, which is refreshing. You can only stand so many star-struck house-sitters before they start to grate on you. Leah's never stolen anything or even moved a pillow out of place, something Loki appreciates immensely.

She rings the doorbell a few minutes later and Loki gives her the extra house key. She takes it, thanks him, and heads back down the drive and out to the street.

The house seems even emptier when she's gone. Loki's thoughts turn, slowly but surely, to the drug stash in his desk upstairs, and he finds himself at the foot of the stairs, one hand on the rail.

Just one, he thinks desperately. Just one line and that's all he'll do, he just needs something to kick him out of this depressive funk he's landed himself in again and it will be fine.

 _The Olympics,_ whispers a voice in the back of his mind. Loki frowns. No, he's not putting his name in, he's not—

 _They have testing. You have to stay clean. Just until the tests are over and you're in the clear._ Loki's fingers drum on the bannister.

"Cocaine stays in the system for eight days," he informs himself aloud, feeling like an idiot. "And besides, I'm not even going to enter my name, let alone qualify, let alone go to Sochi."

With that, he races up the stairs as if he's going to outrun his own conscience, and shuts his bedroom door.

~

Half an hour later, the entire house is pristine and Loki's dancing in his living room to Beyoncé, hips swinging, the sun shining through the French doors leading to the patio. It's a beautiful day, cold and sharp and Loki wants to breathe everything in, lie in the sunlight, laugh until it hurts because everything is wonderful and nothing is ever going to hurt again, never again.

~

An hour later, Loki is huddled on the cold bathroom floor, panting and shaking like a leaf as blood drops slowly from his nose and stains the tile dark red.

Freyja comes in and curls up behind his knees, purring. Loki shuts his eyes and tries to remember what it's like to not be addicted and disordered and generally a walking mess, and he can't. He can't remember when, exactly, everything started going wrong, but it started before his mother died—

"I'm sorry, Mom," he croaks, tears gathering behind his eyes and spilling hot down the bridge of his nose to join the blood on the floor. "I'm trying. It's hard. I'm sorry."

The one thing he never got to tell her, the simple admission of guilt. That he was sorry, sorry, _sorry_ , and she'd never hear him say it because she was gone.

Loki pushes himself up, dislodging the cat, and throws up into the toilet. There's hardly anything in his stomach anyway, but he still retches for a minute before sagging back, shivering and wiping his mouth.

He spends the night in the bathroom, wrapped in a blanket. He's too drained to move.

~

The next day is better. Loki goes out to the Moose Sherritt and practices. He tries not to think about Thor.

He gets a hot chocolate on the way home. It's nowhere near as good as Thor's was, but he finishes it anyway, gets home, and packs for Winnepeg.

Two days later he wakes up and drives to MSP. His flight leaves at three, so he checks in his bag, grabs a snack, buys a magazine, and sits in a little cafe. Even with sunglasses, he's soon discovered by a few teenagers and signs autographs with a small smile, _no, no photos please I'm just taking a trip to see a friend of mine._

He breaks away from the small crowd as his flight number is called and manages to make it to the gate, slipping into his first-class seat with a sigh. It's a short flight, which means he can't sleep on it, so he sits back and moodily stares out the window for an hour and a half.

~

Once he lands and gets a taxi to the stadium, he starts to feel highly nervous, and the feeling only gets stronger as he enters the rink and gets his ticket stamped and finds his seat in a crowd made mostly of mildly to moderately inebriated Canadians.

 _It could be worse_ , he thinks as he shucks off his jacket and rolls the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows. _It could be a crowd mostly of drunk Americans_. Thor would have laughed at that joke, and Loki leans forward, trying to make out faces under helmets. He's a little late, and the Jets have already scored.

He finally, finally sees Thor, a mass of red and green with ODINSON across his shoulders toeing the blue line for all he's worth as the puck slides toward him. There's a brief scuffle, the crowd goes wild, and Thor bats the puck away from the goal, sending it sliding toward center, where a forward catches it and bats it straight into the Jets' goal net.

Every single Wild fan in the arena goes batshit, cheering and screaming Thor's name. Loki finds himself on his feet too, shouting and clapping and smiling as Thor circles back to his position.

The puck makes its way back to the Wild's goal net, bit by bit, chased by two behemoths in blue and white. Thor and the other defenceman scuffle with them for a second, and Loki nearly misses it, but the puck slips between the goalie's feet and into the net.

He groans, and the sentiment is echoed by the American audience as the Canadians raise the roof. The excitement dies down, and Loki glances at the scoreboard. The game is tied, 2-2, and it stays tied until there are five minutes left on the clock and Loki's gone through three cups of coffee.

Thor is still pacing around, skating like an angry panther, and Loki can practically taste the tension in the air as the puck nears the Wilds' goal. He sees Thor pause for a brief second, and then a Jets player slams into him from the back and another seems to hit him from the front and Thor goes down hard, splayed out on the blue line, and when he rolls over, knees drawn up to his chest, there's a pool of blood on the ice.

Loki drops his coffee and stands up in his seat with a hundred other spectators, his heart in his throat, his hands gone cold.

The referee skates out, blowing his whistle furiously, and gives someone a penalty, and the crowd goes quiet as the Wilds' trainer skates out, crouches down, helps Thor sit up, and presses a towel to his face.

When Thor gets to his feet and groggily skates off the ice, a cheer goes up, and it's not just coming from the Americans. Loki wants to follow him off the ice and to wherever he's going, but a pair of blue eyes darts over and finds him, focuses, and Thor's heavily gloved hand raises, palm out, staring straight at Loki.

_Stay._

Loki takes a shaky breath and realizes he's still standing, then sits down hurriedly, almost in someone's lap.

The referee gives the player who body-checked Thor a five-minute penalty, and with one man benched, it doesn't take long for the Wild to score.

The clock runs out. The game is over.

Wild 3, Jets 2.

An uproarious cheer goes up from the Wild fans, and Loki is clapped on the back and whooped at by lumberjack-y sort of people until he quietly slips out of the stands and out to the front, where an ambulance is waiting, blue and red lights flashing silently over the cold parking lot.

Dread gathers in his belly, and he takes a few steps toward it, but then the glass doors to the arena lobby slide open with a hiss and four EMTs come out with Thor on a gurney.

"Shit," says Loki through his teeth. "Shit, no, _Thor_ —"

He's white in the face and appears unresponsive. One EMT is holding his wrist and shouting for Loki to get out of the way, to step back, and Loki doesn’t understand until he realizes he's standing behind the ambulance, in front of the doors.

He steps aside and tries to say something, anything, but he can't, and then Thor is gasping out something, trying to say something Loki can’t understand, and then he's inside and the doors are shutting and Loki's left standing in the cold parking lot, alone, as the ambulance pulls out.

He's always left alone. He always, _always_ fucking misses it, misses his chance and fucks it all up and why couldn't he have said something when Thor was _right there_ —

Loki shoves his hands into his pockets, shuddering, and his fingers close around his wallet.

~

Ten minutes later he's weaving in and out of traffic in a yellow cab, keeping up with the ambulance as it heads to the closest hospital. He has no idea where he's going, he just tells the driver to follow the flashing lights until it finally pulls up in front of the emergency bay.

Loki pays the cabbie and heads inside, where he drinks another cup of coffee and tries to explain himself to the receptionist and sits in a plastic chair for an hour until someone comes and leads him to a room while saying things like _concussion_ and _broken nose_ and _facial lacerations_.

Everything sort of stops when Loki collapses into a chair next to Thor's hospital bed and leans forward, hands on his chin. "Thanks," he manages to say to the doctor. He can't remember what he told the receptionist—

"Your friend's going to be fine," says the doctor genially, and Loki thinks, _oh, right,_ and smiles weakly at him as he leaves.

Thor stirs and blinks, the mask over his nose clouding with every breath. "Nnn?" he asks, and Loki reaches out and grabs his hand.

He feels warm and alive and Loki wants to drag him home and tuck him in and never let anyone hurt him again. "You idiot," he chokes, and lets go of Thor's hand, trying desperately not to cry.

Thor tries again, reaching up with his good hand and pulling the mask down. His nose is covered in white plaster. "Did we win?" he manages, and Loki flings his hands into the air.

"Yes, you fucking overgrown child, you won. Unbelievable. Wait, hold on. You—" Loki narrows his eyes. "You did that on purpose, didn’t you? You _let_ yourself be hurt so he would get a penalty, you absolutely insufferable—"

"Thought you didn't like hockey," grunts Thor, cracking a half grin.

"I've done my homework, shut up." Loki slumps back in the chair, dragging his hands down his face. "Unbelievable. You are unbelievable. You made me stay just so I could come tell you the score, didn't you?"

"Maybe," says Thor.

There's a long silence.

"Oh, fuck you, it was 3-2 and you won." Loki crosses his arms. "How long are you going to be in here?"

"You okay?" Thor raises his head a little, looking over at Loki. One of his eyes is bloodshot and there's a long cut, stitched up, running across his cheek.

"Hospitals," Loki informs him, "give me the creeps."

"I'll say. You look like you've seen a ghost." Thor's eyes flick over him. "You wanna take a walk outside for a while? Get some fresh air?"

"No, I'm fine," says Loki, and grips his elbows tighter. He's aware he's shaking and that there are hot tears burning behind his eyes, and he's wrestling with an irrational fear that if he leaves, they won't let him back in, or he'll get lost, or while he's walking around Thor will—

Thor will—

_He's standing in a waiting room in a hospital in St. Louis, and the doctor is telling him his mother is dead. There's a painting on the wall of a serene field of summer flowers, and Loki can't stop staring at it._

_It's ten degrees outside and that summer field is as absent as his mother, and just as unattainable._

"She had… roses in her garden."

"What?"

Loki clears his throat, trying to stop tears from tracking down his face. "My mother. She liked to grow them. Said even though they—died, every winter, she liked replanting them in the summer and watching them grow again, watching how the new ones turned out. Or some shit like that, I don't really remember."

Thor doesn’t say much for a long time. Then, gently, "How long ago did she die?"

Loki chokes off a strangled laugh. "That obvious, huh?"

"Yeah." Thor's voice is soft, sad. "It kinda is."

"Uh, about two years ago. It was a car accident." Loki drags his hand across his eyes. "It, uh, it was my fault." He stares at the wall numbly for a minute. "I _really_ fucking hate hospitals," he spits.

There's a creaking, and Loki turns to see Thor sitting up and dizzily reaching for Loki's knee. "Hey," he says.

"What do you think you're doing, get back in bed—"

"As soon as I'm out of here, you can tell me about it, okay?"

"Do you like cats?" blurts out Loki, and goes hot to his ears. At Thor's puzzled look, he tries to explain. "It's just, I've got this cat, and if you, I mean, when, if you wanted to come over to my place for a weekend or something—"

"Loki. Breathe. I'm not going anywhere." Thor pats his knee.  "I'm concussed and they're gonna keep me here for twenty-four hours under supervision and then I'm escaping to my hotel room, where I'm going to take a hot shower, watch shit television, eat whatever I want, have a ton of sex, and pass out."

"A ton of sex, huh? With a face like that?" Loki gives him a weak grin. "I only know one person who would even be remotely interested in sleeping with _that_ horror show."

"Really? What's her number?" Thor looks genuinely interested and Loki feels stung, but then Thor laughs at his disgruntled face. Of course, then he winces and touches his nose, which makes Loki laugh at him.

"So, do I have a hotel room to escape to?" asks Loki as Thor lies back down.

"Nah. You're in my room." Thor winks at him.

"That's not gonna be an issue with the guys?" Loki asks.

"They're all flying back to Minnesota tonight. I bowed out, said I had family business to take care of." Thor puts the oxygen mask clumsily back over his face. "You can go back to the hotel if you want. My bag—shit, my bag is still in the lockers—"

"I'll work it out, you get some rest." Loki takes his hand and squeezes it gently.

It strikes him as odd that he can barely look after himself on a good day and yet here he is promising Thor he's going to take care of everything.

Loki decides he's had enough of hospitals, and after making sure Thor is asleep, he slips out the doors, shoves his hands in his pockets, and heads to his car.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally well again and home safe! Here is Chapter 7 for all your Thorki needs!

There's a flurry of commotion out in the parking lot in the hospital, news crews and vans pulled up, wires, microphones, cameras. Loki slips past most of the reporters, all enthusiastically telling the blinking red lights on their cameras that they're reporting _live from blah blah hospital where Thor Odinson has been admitted with a concussion_ and really it's all very distracting, Loki thinks.

He just wants to find Thor's bag and head back to their hotel room and pass out and wait for Thor and maybe not leave the bed for days. Is that too much to ask from the world?

Loki flags down a cab, shoves his hands deep into his pockets and climbs into the back of the car, driving back to the arena because it's the only place he can think of to go. Someone must have Thor's bag, somebody must have picked it up.

The cab pulls into the parking lot and Loki glances in his rearview mirror. He's recognizable, and that's going to work against him. Quickly, Loki reaches into his jacket and takes out a bright green beanie, pulling it over his head and tucking his loose hair into the back of the hat. Better.

Loki pinches his cheeks to make them look fuller and pinker, and then he bounds out of the cab with an order to stay put, throwing a worried look on his face. "Hey!" he calls out to a tall black guy in a suit and a coat who's furiously texting. "Hey, sorry, man—I'm from Mr. Odinson's publicity team and they sent me over to grab his stuff. Do you know, I mean, can anyone help me?"

The guy gives him a surprised look. "They didn't tell me they were sending anyone. How's Thor doing?"

"He's got a concussion and a broken nose, couple of facial lacerations. He'll be under surveillance in the hospital for a day or so, and then they'll let him go." Loki sniffs in the cold air and rubs his nose. "I'm supposed to get his bag. He said he left it in the locker room?"

"Right, yeah, he did. I was wondering what to do with it. Over here, kid." The man leads Loki to the doors and through the foyer and down to the lockers, where Loki's eyes immediately find the gray and red duffel bag he recognizes from practice.

"Oh, perfect. Awesome, thanks, man." Loki hoists the bag over his shoulder and sticks out a hand. "I'm Loren Olsen, it was nice to meet you."

The man smiles warmly and shakes his hand. "I'm the assistant coach. Call me Heimdall. Nice to meet you, Mr. Olsen."

Loki smiles and walks away as quickly as he can without being rude. There's a disturbing knowing look in the man's amber eyes and he doesn't much care for it.

Once he gets into his cab, he drives off. After some digging, he finds the address and room number of the hotel Thor's staying in. He pays the cabbie and grabs his stuff and Thor's duffel bag, heading into the lobby and to the elevator.

He takes the elevator up to the fourth floor and slips into room 419, closing the door behind him. It's a perfectly ordinary hotel room, a single king-size bed taking up half the floor, a small TV in the cabinet, a mini-fridge. Loki puts down all the bags and flops onto the bed, sighing heavily.

Made it. Home free, safe. Now he just has to wait until Thor gets out of the goddamn hospital.

He yanks off his beanie, letting his hair flop down into his face. It strikes him how tired he feels, bone-tired, like nothing is ever going to happen again.

Twenty-four hours is a long time.

He pushes off the bed and takes a very long and very hot shower, changing into a pair of loose pants he digs out of his bag and ordering room service. It'll be on Thor's tab but he'll compensate him, he thinks.

Thor's bag is still on the floor, and Loki hesitates for a second before unzipping it, feeling like a sneaky child doing something wrong.

He pulls out a few T-shirts, jeans, socks, briefs. Thor's phone is tucked into the inside pocket, along with his wallet and a bottle of Advil. Loki drums his fingers on the floor before pulling a T-shirt of Thor's over his head, a soft, white, well-worn number that smells like Old Spice and Thor's hair.

He picks up Thor's phone, an older iPhone that's still practically pristine. _It's probably password-protected or locked or something,_ he thinks, and presses the home button. The slide-to-unlock tab appears, and Loki slips his thumb across it.

It clicks open and reveals the menu. No password. _Of course not. Because he's a good person with nothing to hide no secrets no crack problem no—_

A rap on the door scares Loki so badly that he nearly drops Thor's phone. It turns out to be room service and he takes the tray with a soft _thank you_ and hands the maid a tip before he shuts the door and devours the grilled cheese sandwich under the tray cover.

He picks up Thor's phone again and starts thumbing through his pictures. There's a ton of snapshots of a large black Lab. _So he has a dog_ , thinks Loki, and keeps scrolling.

A mirror picture of Thor, shirtless and flexing with a goofy face. Loki snorts and thumbs to the next one. This one is of Thor's back, all hard muscle and golden skin, and the little dips above his butt stand out in gentle relief.

Loki swallows. He doesn't know who Thor took these pictures for, or why. He feels like a dirty voyeur. Quickly, he exits out of the photo album and starts going through Thor's address book. There's the numbers of all his teammates, his coaches, his trainer, his mother, his father, and a younger brother named Balder. Balder's photo next to his number and contact information is a close-up of Thor holding his little brother in a headlock, both of them beaming. Loki can see some of Thor in Balder's face.

Family. Loki tastes bile on the word. Family. Thor has a family, he's happy and wholesome and all sunlight and smiles. His mother taught him how to make incredible hot cocoa and pack a suitcase.

He's nothing like Loki.

Loki drops Thor's phone into his bag and climbs into the bed, curling up into the smallest ball he possibly can, his face pressed into Thor's T-shirt. He falls asleep smelling Old Spice and musk, and he prays to whatever's listening that he'll sleep until Thor comes back.

~

When he wakes up, it's one PM and sunlight is burning behind the closed curtains. Loki stretches and stares at the ceiling lazily. He ponders whether or not to go back to the hospital, just in case Thor needs anything.

There's a knock on the door, and Loki slides out of bed, rubbing his eyes. Probably housekeeping. He'll have to go down to the hospital now—probably stop somewhere and get coffee—

He unlocks the door and swings it open. The apologetic look on his face he'd been intending to present to the staff slides off as Thor grins at him.

"Hey," he croaks.

"Holy shit," gasps Loki, and steps back so Thor can come in. "You look like hell—what are you doing here? It's only been eleven hours—"

"They let me go early. They did a scan—a CAT scan or an MRI or something and they said that the concussion was minor so here I am." Thor sits down heavily in the only chair. He's dressed in an odd assortment of his jersey, hockey pants, snow boots, and a bright blue parka.  There's surgical tape on his nose and the cuts on his face are swollen. "Cold as hell out there."

"How did you even get here?" demands Loki.

"Coach dropped my truck off at the hospital with the keys in the glovebox. Ta-da." Thor sniffs gingerly. "Nose still broken, though. I'm starving. Hospital food sucks."

"What do you want? We'll order you something." Loki grabs the room service menu. "Or—do you want to shower first? I mean—"

"Loki," says Thor tiredly, a gentle smile on his face. He stands up and holds his arms out. "C'mere."

Loki staggers forward and throws his arms around Thor, hugging him tight. "I fucking _missed_ you," he says, half-muffled by Thor's parka.

"Ouch," says Thor, and Loki instantly lets go. "Ribs are a little sore, s'okay. Tell you what, you help me out of this getup and into the shower, and then you order me, like, the greasiest food on that menu, and then we're going to pass out together, okay?"

"Not quite up to the whole 'have a ton of sex' thing, huh?" Loki teases as he opens the bathroom door for Thor.

"Did I say that? Me?" Thor grins and winces as the expression tugs at his nose. "Must have been the morphine."

"Nah, it was you." Loki tugs the parka off Thor's shoulders and tosses it into the bedroom. "Arms up."

Thor raises his arms over his head and Loki pulls the jersey off him. His chest is bruised, but there doesn’t seem to be any lasting damage. "Ow," Thor complains as Loki brushes a bruise with his fingertips.

"Oh, shush. It can't be that bad." Loki kneels and tugs off the boots.

"Are you wearing my shirt?" Thor says, and Loki can't figure out whether he's angry or not, so he freezes and slowly looks up.

"Uh. Yeah. I—just wanted, I mean, uh. Um." He flushes furiously and runs a hand through his hair. "Is—is that okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, definitely okay." Thor's smiling so widely Loki's afraid the tape on his nose is going to crack. "Uh, help me get my pants off."

Loki wiggles his eyebrows. "No problem there," he mutters, and Thor snorts as he unzips the hockey pants and lets them fall to the tile, then slowly hooks his thumbs into the elastic of Thor's briefs and pulls them down.

He happens to glance up at Thor halfway through, and the look on Thor's face catches him off guard. He's staring at Loki like he's the best thing he's ever seen, like he's the sunrise or the ocean.

"Are—are you still a little loopy from the morphine?" says Loki nervously. "I can stay in here with you if you w—"

The rest of his sentence is smothered by a warm, damp, scratchy kiss, and Loki melts into Thor's embrace for a full eight seconds before pulling away, keeping his forehead pressed to Thor's.

Thor reaches up and cups the back of Loki's head, snarling his hair in his fingers, and sighs. Loki wrinkles his nose. "Eugh. Get in the shower, you're filthy."

"Only if you come with me," Thor teases as Loki steps to the door.

"I'm ordering you food, you idiot. Clean up and eat something and then we'll talk about coming." Loki tucks his tongue into the corner of his mouth and winks, and Thor groans.

Once the door is mostly shut, Loki goes about ordering room service for Thor, and once it arrives, he puts the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door.

The bathroom door swings open, and Thor, completely naked except for the towel over his shoulders, steps out. "I smell food," he says dreamily.

"I ordered you half the kitchen. Sit." Loki points to the chair, and Thor tucks the towel around his waist, limps over, and sits.

Loki pushes the plate over to him and absently eats a sandwich as Thor inhales most of the food on the table. Somewhere along the line, Loki's foot hooks around Thor's ankle and doesn’t leave.

Once Thor's done, he lets out a long sigh and limps over to the bed, where he carefully stretches out on his back and closes his eyes.

"Are you going to put any clothes on?" Loki asks, sitting on the foot of the bed.

Thor grunts in answer, his damp blond hair stuck to his forehead.

Loki grins to himself, slips off his shirt—Thor's shirt—and climbs up on the bed, between Thor's knees. His long fingers flick the damp towel away from Thor's skin, and Thor opens one eye, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he lifts his hips so Loki can slip the towel out from under him.

"Loki…" says Thor, the name dying off in a little groan.

"Shh. You just lie still." Loki lets his fingers trace the hard bone of Thor's pelvis, his hips, the hard muscle and smooth skin of his sides. His thumb swipes across the soft skin under his navel and Thor sighs, a rumble that makes Loki think of winter storms and snowplows.

Loki leans down and presses his mouth to Thor's inner thigh, and Thor's breathing seems to go a little off, a little shallow. Loki smiles against his skin and nibbles, bites, licks until there's a reddened patch on Thor's thigh and them he moves to the other leg and Thor whines a little, lifts his hips up insistently.

"Loki, Jesus—"

"Mmm," says Loki, and plants his forearms on either side of Thor's hips, keeping him down. "I told you, lie still," he whispers, and turns his attention to Thor's cock, full and flushed and resting against the juncture of his thigh and belly.

He takes every inch of Thor's cock into his mouth, and above him, Thor's sleepy, half-closed eyes fly open into wide, brilliant blue.

"Fuck," he gasps, his fingers curling into the bed.

Loki hums against his cock and licks delicately at the tip, letting his hand slip between Thor's legs and dragging a finger across his perineum. With a soft pop, he lets Thor slip out of his mouth. "I said, lie _still_ ," he hisses softly, scuttling off the bed for the lube in his bag. He climbs back up, slicking his fingers, and Thor groans but relaxes as Loki licks up the underside of his cock and sucks at the head, swiping into the tip with his tongue and tasting precome.

"Mmm, ahh. Loki, shit." Thor lets out a low moan.

"I've got you. Relax." Loki presses his index finger to Thor's hole, and Thor swallows hard but relaxes as Loki's finger slips in to the second knuckle. "Good." Loki kisses Thor's belly, just under his navel (he loves that, that little patch of soft skin there) as he adds another finger, making Thor squirm just a little.

"God. God just, just, _nnghh_." Loki steals a glance up at Thor and is pleased to note that his eyes are dilated so widely that the blue is nearly gone and there is a deep flush to his cheeks.

Loki keeps his eyes on Thor's face as he curls his fingers and rubs hard against his prostate. Thor mewls—yes, mewls, like a desperate kitten—and his cock jerks, leaking hard across his belly. " _Loki_!"

 "Shh, shh, I'm gonna make you come and you're going to love it, shh," Loki whispers, trying to ignore his own raging erection. He rubs and teases at Thor's prostate again and Thor groans, bringing his knees up and trying to spread his legs wider.

"More, god, unnnngh, Loki, Loki, please—"

Loki leans down and takes Thor's cock into his mouth again, making use of his free hand and still pressing and rubbing with his right. Thor splutters incoherently and grabs Loki's head, pushing him down on his cock, fucking his face, his fingers shaking in Loki's hair.

Loki lets him do it, gladly lets him do it, a blind litany of _yes yes use me fuck it fuck me use me yes god yes_ running through his head. He drops his left hand, steadying himself on the bed with it, but doesn't let up on his working right fingers until Thor draws in a strained, sobbing breath and the hand in his hair tightens and then Thor's coming, hot and hard in Loki's mouth, gagging him, threatening to choke him.

Loki moans and tries to swallow, but Thor's dick is blocking the back of his throat. He gags again and Thor lets go, panting, as he raises his head and gasps for air, come and tears streaming down his face.

"Fuck, fuck, sorry, you okay?"

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, blinking tears out of his eyes. "I'm fine," he says hoarsely, and clears his throat. "Fine. Your nose is bleeding again, though."

Thor brings his hand to his nose and looks at his stained fingers. "Well, shit."

"I'll get you a washcloth," says Loki, but Thor sits up.

"I'll get it myself. You stay right there," he says. There's a promise in his voice, and so Loki does as he's told, waiting on the bed until Thor comes back with a wet towel and climbs back up on the bed. He tips Loki's head up, holding his chin between his thumb and forefinger, and wipes the mess of come and tears off Loki's face.

"Your nose," says Loki reprovingly, and Thor sniffs, then brings the wet towel to his face.

"It's fine."  Thor tosses the towel to the floor. "The important thing is, why are you still wearing pants?"

Loki chuckles. "Oh, so you didn't forget about me, nice to know."

"Shut up and take your pants off," growls Thor, and Loki kicks off his pajama pants as Thor stretches out on his back with a groan. "Up here, come here."

Loki obediently scoots forward until his dick is bobbing inches from Thor's chest, and Thor uncorks the bottle of lube still on the bed and slicks his hand, then tightens his fist around Loki's cock.

"Shit," gasps Loki, and thrusts a little with his hips. Thor tightens his fingers and god, it's absolutely heavenly. Loki tries to string it out, to hold off for as long as he can, but Thor's fingers twist and flick and rub and soon enough Loki's fucking into his hand, hips thrusting wildly, and he lets out one desperate sound as he pitches through his climax and spills over Thor's chest.

His hands come down on either side of Thor's head and he moans, shuddering, as every last drop is wrung from him by Thor's tight, hot hand.

"There you go," murmurs Thor, and Loki sighs and rolls off him, curling up on the bed in a pleasant haze. He dimly hears Thor wiping himself off with the towel and then he's aware of a heavy weight at his side and he presses into it, buries his face in Thor's chest.

Thor draws the covers over them both and they set about getting tangled into each other's limbs, eventually settling and drifting off.

"We don't have to leave for another day or so," says Thor distantly a few minutes later.

"Mmm," says Loki, half asleep.

"Not even the bed," says Thor, and Loki snorts and gives him a halfhearted push.

"Good plan," he mumbles.

"Let's stay here forever," whispers Thor, burying himself in the sheets down by Loki. "Let's stay here and never leave, just sleep and fuck. You and me."

Loki opens his eyes and gives Thor a long look. "Come to my place," he breathes. "Please."

"Okay," Thor whispers back, and that's all he says. It's all he needs to say.

Loki falls asleep with a steady heart beating under his palm and a peace like he's rarely known somewhere deep in his bones.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for being patient with me! I'm moving tomorrow, so this will be my last update for a bit. Enjoy!

When Thor and Loki finally leave the hotel the next afternoon, they don't do much speaking. Thor calls a cab and the ride to the airport starts with Thor calling his coach and reassuring them he's fine, he just got some sleep.

At one point in the conversation Loki hears the name "Loren Olsen" through the speakers and Thor gives him a small grin. "Yeah, he found me, it's all good, thank you," he says, and hangs up.

"So, Mr. Olsen," he says with a lopsided grin, "what's on the agenda when we get back to St. Paul?"

Loki swallows and leans back. "You need quite a bit of R&R, what with that bump on the head, Mr. Odinson," he says smoothly.

The cabbie interjects, "Oh, I watched the game last night. Good one, too."

"Thanks, man," says Thor cheerily.

Loki sulks, playing around on his phone as the two other men engage in a loud discussion about hockey. When the cab finally pulls up to the terminal, Thor tips the guy fifty bucks and drags his own luggage out of the car.

"You're insufferable," Loki informs him as they get up to the desk.

"Thanks," says Thor, and turns to the woman behind the counter. "Hey. Uh, any openings on any flights to St. Paul?"

"Hmm," says the woman, and browses her screen. "Yes, sir, we've got two coach seats open on a 2:45."

"Done," says Thor, and slides over his passport and credit card."

"I could have gotten that," says Loki mulishly, handing the woman his own passport.

"You bought the food. I got this." Thor takes his ID back. "Thanks," he tells the woman, who turns a little pink.

"No problem. Any checked luggage?"

"Nope," says Thor, and cheerfully walks away with the boarding passes, Loki trailing in his wake.

~

Flying coach is the actual worst, and Loki can't believe ordinary people actually fly like this, with no legroom and a crying baby behind him and a man snoring a few rows up.

Thor wedges his bag between his feet and the seat in front of them. "Sorry it's not first class, or business, or whatever you usually fly. Platinum? Gold? Eight-star service with free booze?" Loki fights a smile, trying not to laugh. "Kryptonite class? Everything served in crystal and silver goblets or something?"

Loki snorts. "Goblets? Seriously?"

"I wouldn’t know." Thor yawns and winces. (Loki had helped him take the plaster off his nose that morning but the Advil he'd popped was wearing off.) "I might fall asleep on you."

"I'll flick your nose," threatens Loki.

"You wouldn't dare," says Thor, eyes wide and blue.

Loki smirks and plugs in his iPod. "You'll have to wait and see," he says.

~

Thirty minutes later, Thor is passed out, head back and snoring. Loki is bored with his iPod and there's nothing to do and they've still got an hour before they land in Minnesota.

The baby behind him is still crying, so he turns and sort of peeks through the headrests. The baby—a boy, judging by the blue shirt, looks to be about a year or so old, fat and rosy-cheeked and very unhappy.

"Psst," says Loki.

The baby jerks his little head up and stares at Loki, unsure of this change of events. "Uuuh?" he asks.

"Hello," whispers Loki, feeling like an idiot.

The young mother smiles at him. "Thanks," she says. "He was just bored, weren't you, Ty?"

"Guuh," says Ty, and bounces on his mother's lap.

Loki chuckles. "Energetic little guy, isn't he?"

"Already walking. Gets into everything. They told me to child-proof the house but they never said anything about monster-proofing. I think he tried to eat a cabinet handle the other day." She laughs, and Loki laughs with her.

It's odd but nice, this sensation of smiling at a stranger he's never going to see again. He wonders why he never bothered to talk to people before. Not people like his agent or his trainer or his coach—but just ordinary people around him, like this woman with a baby, or the older gentleman across the aisle reading the paper.

He chats with her for a while—her name is Amanda, and she's flying to St. Paul to visit with her girlfriend for a week. Ty's going to meet his "other mom" as Amanda puts it with a grin.

"Of course, we're going to try to get him to call us both Mom. I mean, once her visa gets accepted and all the paperwork gets finished Sharon can actually move to Canada and then, you know, we'll be a family—after that he should be more used to it."

"Of course," Loki says, and glances at the now-dozing Ty. "Has he ever met her before?"

"Once, when he was born. He won't remember her now." Amanda shifts her hold on him. "Are you going to ask who the father was? Because most people do."

Loki sees a guardedness in her face, a wariness, a shield up where there wasn't before. He recognizes it—he's seen the same look on himself in the mirror. "Nah," he says, and it slips past his lips, carefree and gentle, like when Thor says it. "Figured that's your business."

Amanda's eyes go bright. "Thanks," she says quietly. "Can you hold him for a minute? I have to use the bathroom."

Loki takes the half-asleep toddler and props him up on his shoulder, momentarily panicking. _Wait, shit, am I supposed to support his head? No, he's probably fine, the head support thing is for newborns. I think._

Before he can inquire as to the finer points of baby-holding, Amanda is out of her seat and headed to the lavatory, leaving Loki with his arms full of sleepy child.

Ty makes a displeased noise and Loki shushes him worriedly. "Shh, please don't start crying," he whispers, and Ty wrinkles his little nose.

"Mama?" he asks, rousing himself.

"Went to the bathroom. That's all right, she'll be back in a second. Go back to sleep," says Loki.

Ty looks around with wide, scared eyes. _Shit,_ thinks Loki. "Hey, wait, look at Thor," he says, and pokes Thor's nose lightly—not enough to hurt him, but enough to make him snuffle and grunt.

Ty stares at Thor, a big smile replacing the fear on his face. "Oohhh," he says with glee.

Loki pokes Thor again, and he grunts again, rolling his head to the side. Ty giggles and reaches out, entangling Thor's blond hair in his chubby fist before Loki can stop him. Thor jerks awake, startled, and Ty shrieks with exhilaration.

"Sorry," hisses Loki.

Thor stares at Loki and then at the baby whose hands his hair is wrapped in. "Wow, a lot can happen in—" he checks his phone "—forty-three minutes; who knew?"

"I'm babysitting," says Loki defensively. "This is Ty."

"Hello, Ty," says Thor with a grin, and Ty immediately goes to Thor, reaching out his fat little arms and burying his face in Thor's neck. Loki watches Thor bounce the kid and hum, and within minutes, Ty is sound asleep.

People trust Thor, thinks Loki. Not him—they don't trust him (and they shouldn't) , but a big blond idiot with a beard and shining blue eyes—yeah, we're good to go. Even the babies. Loki had seen the inherent trust in Ty's face as he reached for Thor.

_Babies and animals,_ he thinks. _If they like someone, that someone's a good person. If they don't, you know to stay away._

"Oh—" says Amanda, and Loki looks up to see her standing over Thor, looking down at her son. "God, I'm sorry—"

"Don't be," says Thor easily, smiling up at her. "He's out like a light. I can hold him for a little if you want to get some sleep."

"Oh, _would_ you?" she asks, beaming. There are practically hearts in her eyes. "Thank you so much."

She falls asleep behind Loki, and Loki drifts off, curled up in the corner between his seat and the wall. He wakes up when Ty wakes up (an event heralded by loud whining and cries of "Mama") and sullenly rolls over, draws Thor's parka over his shoulders (where did that come from?) and goes back to sleep.

He's woken up again by the announcement over the speakers that they'll be landing shortly, and drags himself up out of a spot on Thor's shoulder. Thor snorts and wakes up too, yawning and stretching like a hibernating bear.

From behind them, Amanda says, "Thanks so much, you guys. Hope you have a nice trip home."

"Oh, no problem, hope you do too." Thor grins at her and rubs his eyes, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Loki's ears are red.

"She thought we were a couple," he whispers to Thor as they start walking through the terminal a few minutes later. His aching legs are glad of the exercise.  

"Aren't we?" Thor asks, amusement flickering in his eyes.

Loki's heart leaps into his throat and he fights to keep from—what? Screaming? Crying? Panicking? He doesn't know. "Shut up," he growls, and stalks ahead of Thor, trying to hide the hot tears gathering behind his eyes.

"Loki?" Thor sounds worried. "You all right?"

"Not now," snarls Loki, and almost shoves someone over trying to get to the garage so he can get his keys and get in his car and just fucking go home.

Thor follows him to the car, their footsteps too loud, echoing in the concrete space. Loki finds his Corvette and unlocks it, sliding into the front seat.

Thor gets into the passenger seat and Loki watches, irritation giving way to faint amusement, as he nearly hits his head on the roof. "It's like a clown car," Thor says.

"Don’t insult my car, now," purrs Loki, and starts the engine. Even Thor has to admit it's a nice ride, and when they pull up to Loki's house, Thor doesn't want to get out of the car.

Of course, it only takes a look from Loki to get him moving.

Loki unlocks the front door, and is greeted by the sight of Leah filling Freyja's bowl. She blinks at him. "Hi, Mr. L," she says. "Figured I'd drop by today in case you were late getting home or something."

"Thank you, Leah," he says, and takes out his wallet, peeling out a fifty and handing it to her. She plucks it out of his hands and tucks it into her pocket.

"Hi," she says to Thor, her eyes flickering over him.

"Do I have to pay you another twenty to keep you quiet about the people I bring home?" says Loki lightly.

She grins at him, her nose ring flashing. "Nope." One black-tipped hand drops the spare keys into Loki's palm. "See you, Mr. L."

"Strange girl," remarks Thor as Leah disappears down the street.

"She doesn’t steal, she doesn't leak shit to the press, and my cat likes her. Good enough for me," says Loki.

Thor pets Freyja, who purrs and rubs against his legs. "Nice cat," he says, and then he looks very tired. "You got any Tylenol?"

~

When it becomes clear that Thor is not in the mood for anything more strenuous than lounging around on the sofa and watching TV, Loki decides to make an evening of it.

They order pizza and turn on Netflix and Loki drags every blanket in the house over, making sure every inch of Thor is covered up and that he's got a box of tissues for his nose and a mug of cocoa and enough Advil to numb a broken leg and a pillow and—

"You don’t have to keep binging me things like I'm a baby bird," says Thor with mild humor.

Loki swallows and drops the third pillow. "Oh," he says, feeling like an idiot. "I mean, no, of course not, I just—I just—"

"I'm not leaving," says Thor firmly, and Loki feels a little better, but not much. "I couldn't even if I wanted to, and I'm not going to, because I don't want to."

"Okay," says Loki quietly.

"Come here," says Thor, and Loki presses himself into Thor's warm side, curls around him like a clinging vine curls around a fencepost. "You're a piece of work, but that's all right, because you're _my_ piece of work."

Loki closes his eyes and fights for composure. "Say that again," he whispers.

"You're my piece of work," says Thor, and kisses the top of Loki's head. 

~

It turns out Thor _is_ actually in the mood for something other than TV and snuggling.

Loki wrestles him all the way to the bedroom, gasping and mouthing at his neck and trying to be careful of his face but to no avail. He does manage to get Thor to head to the bathroom and clean up, but eventually of course they end up on the bed, naked, Thor on his back and Loki sitting astride him.

"Again? This is gonna get old," says Thor, eyes dilated and chest gleaming with sweat. His cock is already hard and pointing at the ceiling—Loki's never seen him get this hard this fast.

"Shut up," says Loki fiercely, and grabs for his lube and the condoms, slicking his hand.

"Wait," says Thor softly, and grabs Loki's wrist, strong fingers light and trembling slightly. "You're—"

"Do you want—?" Loki begins.

" _Yes_ ," whimpers Thor, in the most agonized and desperate tone of voice Loki has ever heard. It goes to his cock like a circuit's been drawn from ear to crotch, and he shifts to let his erection swell against his leg. "Yes, god, yes; but I want _you_ , not the fucking condom."

Loki drops the condom. It crinkles as it hits the floor. "Shit," he says weakly.

"You said you were clean," says Thor, chest heaving. "Please, Loki."

Loki moans, He doesn't even realize he's doing it until he registers the reverberations vibrating through his chest. Thor, begging him, using his name—this golden god in his bed on his back in supplication—

Two fingers go to Thor, spreading his ass open, stroking, gentle. "Relax, I've got you," he croons, and Thor's body gives to him, letting him slip his fingers in past the second knuckle.  A small noise escapes from between Thor's teeth, and Loki places his other hand on his leg, rubbing gently, his entire body on edge. "Good, there you go. Relax."

He adds another finger, and Thor lifts his knees a little. "Nngh, ah. Loki—fuck—"

"Good?"

"Yes, fuck, give me more, I need, give, give me your _cock_ Loki do it _now_ —"

Loki withdraws his fingers, his belly tight with anticipation, and aligns himself with Thor, the head of his cock pressed against Thor's slightly-too-small opening. "Relax," he whispers again, and waits until Thor exhales before working his way in, slow and careful, not wanting to hurt him.

"Fucking Christ, Loki, just fuck me," Thor practically sobs, and Loki doesn't need any more encouragement.

He slams into Thor hard, spearing Thor on his cock, gasping with Thor as tight hot muscle clamps down on him. "Shit," he chokes.

"Huuuuhhh," moans Thor. "Loki—"

"Shut up, shut up, fuck—" Loki scrabbles at Thor's chest, leaving marks there, and manages to anchor himself half in the sheets and half in Thor's hair. "Fuck, always fucking talking you goddamn—" He pulls nearly all the way out and waits until Thor's hole twitches around his head, and then he slams back in, balls-deep, words spilling from his mouth.  "—fucking _moron_ , beautiful fucking idiot—"

"Please," gasps Thor, and his eyes are black, the blue gone. Loki, frenzied, thinks how beautiful he would be bound and gagged on his floor. He braces his knees and starts fucking Thor in earnest, the bed rocking (but not squeaking, he has better taste than that).

"Perfect, you're just fucking _perfect_ you asshole, perfect family perfect player perfect _everything_ —"

" _Hit me_ ," begs Thor, and Loki doesn't even slow down, backhanding him across the mouth.

"Oh, you like that?" snarls Loki, and hits him again, keeping his rhythm steady as Thor's nose begins to bleed. Pure vindictive pleasure threatens to wring his orgasm out of him, to push him over the edge. Loki contains himself and grabs Thor by the throat, holding him down, hair entangled in his fingers, his slender arm white and corded against Thor's golden chest.

Thor makes a desperate noise and his eyes roll back as his hands tighten on Loki's legs. Loki echoes the noise and keeps moving, teeth bared, gasping for air.

"You fucking cock, you made me—look like an idiot on that plane and during that game and in the hospital fuck you _fuck_ you I lied for _you_ I risked _us_ for you—"

Thor's cock, trapped between their slick bellies, twitches. Loki lifts his body away, denying Thor friction. "Loki," Thor pleads, and tries to lift his hips.

Loki presses down on him again and lets his mouth trace a path from his collarbone to his ear. "You're going to come when I tell you you can," he growls, and Thor shudders.

"Nnnh, yes—"

"Good," says Loki and grabs Thor's wrists, directing his hands to the headboard. Thor grips the thing tightly, his knuckles white. "If you break my bed," Loki purrs into Thor's chest, "I'm going to shove my favorite toy in your ass, turn it to the highest setting, and leave you bound on the floor for eight hours _are we clear—"_

"Yes," pants Thor, and Loki lifts his knees up, bending Thor in half and planting one hand on his chest and the other on the headboard.

"Hold on," he says, and Thor gives him the faintest little blood-tinged smile before Loki fucks it right off his face with a series of hard, slow thrusts.

"Fuck," Thor moans, and Loki slaps him again, just because he wants to.

He brings Thor to his edge hard and fast and keeps him there for thirty minutes—he counts, watches the clock on his table—before reaching down and grabbing his cock and giving him a few slick, tight strokes from base to tip, twisting at the head.

Thor bucks and lets out a single low whine as he pitches over his edge, come splattering on his belly and chest. Loki feels his ass clamp down around his own cock, and he grimaces, trying to hold off.

He fucks Thor through his orgasm, and only when Thor is heavy and pliant under him does Loki let himself come, buried to the hilt in Thor's ass as he spills. "Shit, fuck, ohhhhh, Thor," he pants, and a large, warm hand comes up and strokes his thigh as he finishes, trembling.

"Got you," Thor rumbles in a husky whisper. "Come down here, got you."

Loki pulls out, sweat cooling on his back, and regards Thor lying in his bed; a limp fucked-out mess covered in sweat and come, tangled blond hair shining on Loki's sheets.

"God," he says heavily, and crawls down into Thor's arms, burying his face in the spot where it fits so well, between Thor's shoulder and neck and chin.

"God," echoes Thor.

They don't say anything for a while.

"You really that mad at me for the game?" Thor asks after a while.

"No," says Loki quietly. "Yes. I don’t know. I was."

"Oh. Okay."

More silence. The thermostat kicks in and the room becomes a little warmer.

"Loki?"

"Hmm?"

"There's a—plastic bag—with white residue in it on your desk. Please tell me it's not something illegal."

_Fuck. **Fuck.**_

Loki closes his eyes against Thor's warm skin and begins to cry.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient! It's been nearly a month since I updated, so here you go! :)

They're downstairs, sitting at opposite ends of Loki's leather couch, before Thor is done shouting at Loki.

"You absolute fucking _moron_ , how could you keep something like this in your house—your _house-sitter_ probably saw it, you're compromising _me_ , if someone gets this information your entire career is over and so is _mine_ —"

"I'm sorry," Loki whispers for the eightieth time, his eyes red and swollen from crying. He's huddled into the corner of the couch, trying to make himself as small as possible. "Thor, I'm sorry."

The plastic bag is gone, flushed down the toilet in Loki's bathroom. Loki's closet is open, his desk ransacked, everything in his secret places naked on the floor upstairs. He had no more illegal substances in the house, but that hadn't stopped Thor from tearing everything apart.

Finally, Thor stops shouting and rests his head on the back of the couch. Loki wishes he would keep yelling—noise was vastly preferable to the silence filling the house.

"I can't be here," says Thor abruptly, and stood up, heading to the stairs.

Loki sits forward in shock. "Thor?"

Thor takes the stairs two at a time. Loki sits in numb horror on the sofa until Thor comes back down with his suitcase.

"No. Thor, no—" Loki launches himself out of his couch, panic rising in his throat. "Don't—"

"I have to go home." Thor's voice is hard and cold. "Get out of my way."

"No. I'm—Thor, don't leave me here, please don't leave me here—" Tears threaten to spill down Loki's cheeks again.

"You fucking—you asshole, you think everything is about _you_? You think I can be around some addict, some celebrity—and my life will be just fine?" Thor drops his suitcase on Loki's marble tile, advancing on Loki, who scuttles backward into the pantry wall. "You don't think about anyone but yourself, and you—you're going to destroy everything you care about one day."

"Not you," gasps Loki. "Please. Thor, don't leave me here. I need you." The words are painful, ripped from some unyielding place inside his chest. He says it again, just to say it. "I need you."

Thor's eyes flicker, and his face twitches like he might start to cry. "Don't," he says in a low rumble. "Don't say that to me. You don't need me, you need a therapist."

"It's—I've—" Loki struggles with his thoughts. "I've been different since you. Better. I've—done things I should have and—you made me—make me—better."

"Yeah? Prove it," says Thor.

"I—" Loki flails for anything. "The Olympics. I'll—sign up, register, submit myself, whatever. I'll go to qualifications. I'll clean up, get my shit together."

"Really," says Thor flatly.

"Really. Please—just don't leave." Loki reaches up, touches Thor's shirt. He's terrified that if he grabs him too hard, Thor will disappear.

"I can't do this anymore," says Thor, and steps back. Loki's hand drops and he stares at Thor.

"Thor," he whispers, but Thor is already gone, heading through the front door and out to the street. Loki watches him walk away.

Loki gets very, _very_ drunk that night.

~

The next morning, he calls up Amora, his trainer and demands she get down to Minneapolis so they can practice downtown at the big rink.

(He never goes back to the Moose Sherritt.)

For two months, three months, six months, he trains relentlessly, pushing everything except skating out of his head, skating like he's never skated before. And, surprisingly, it works—temporarily, maybe, but the skating and the new program he's designed takes the place of the distraction that Thor had been and he finds himself sleeping at regular hours, eating regularly.

He does more publicity, starts making the rounds at competitions. A few videos of his performances go viral on YouTube and he starts getting a lot of sponsorship offers. He's on tabloids, with headlines like **SKATING STAR: BACK FROM THE BRINK** and **LAUFEYSON IS LOOKING UP!!!** People start asking him for autographs more often, and he finds himself actually smiling at them.

Loki gets an email from the NOC in December notifying him that he's been entered into the national championships.

He screams and he calls his publicist and Victor and Amora, and then when he hangs up he starts laughing until he can't stop in his bedroom, yelling in pure elation at the ceiling, sobbing _I knew I could do it Mom I knew I could do it_ until his throat goes raw and his tears run dry.

The next days are better. Loki buys Leah a hideously expensive necklace—a platinum chain with a small emerald hanging from it. He tells her it's a thank-you for taking care of his house and his cat so well, and she just grins in her usual unflappable way and says "Thanks, Mr. L." From then on, every time he sees her, she's wearing the necklace.

He wakes up one morning in January: looks in the mirror and barely recognizes himself.  His cheeks are fuller, he's got color, and his eyes are bright.

The next day, he flies to Boston for championships and scores a 180.6 on his program.

That night, Amora brings a bottle of champagne over to his hotel room, beaming at him, almost crying, she's so happy.

When she leaves with a cheery "better brush up on your Russian!" Loki dumps it down the sink and tosses the bottle in the trash.

He doesn't want to lose how he feels ever again. Not with alcohol, not with blow, not with anything.

He wants to feel alive like this forever.

~

In Sochi, he's moseying around the café down the street from his hotel, when he looks up from his cappuccino and sees Thor, with three other guys, sitting across the café eating hamburgers and laughing about something.

His heart almost stops. Thor looks tired; there are circles under his eyes and he hasn't shaved in a while. His three friends are chatting, laughing—he recognizes them from TV. There's Volstagg, the goalie from the Blues, and Hogun, from the Kings, and Fandral, from the Rangers. Apparently Thor's been making friends while Loki slaved over his second-place qualification score.

Thor gets up and leaves the café, pulling out a lighter as he goes. That's interesting. So he's taken up smoking.

Loki stands up, dumps his empty tray, and walks to the door. Thor is nowhere to be seen, so Loki goes down to the alley between the café and the gym.

Thor is standing there, leaning against the wall in the dim evening light, a thin stream of smoke slipping between his lips.

"So I lost my unhealthy habits and you took one up?" asks Loki, standing at the end of the alley.

Thor's head whips around and he stares at Loki. "Holy shit. So you really are here."

"Surprise," he says dryly, and steps into the alley. "Can I bum a smoke off you?"

"Sure," says Thor, and hands him a cigarette. Loki holds it between his fingers as Thor lights it for him, and inhales, tasting the bitter smoke on his tongue, feeling the warmth all the way down to his belly. He exhales and watches the blue smoke curl around his face. Smoking isn't something he really does, and he's certainly not addicted to nicotine, but he does enjoy the occasional cigarette.

"You look like shit," he says.

Thor blinks and looks down. "Yeah. You look great."

"You okay?"

"I—I missed you," Thor says quietly, and something vindictive and ugly rears its head inside Loki's chest.

"Are you joking? You literally walked out of my house, Thor. As I was begging you to stay."

Thor's blue eyes are pained. "Loki—"

"You told me I was a selfish bastard, that I was going to destroy everything I cared about, that we didn't need each other. And now here you are—and you look like you crawled out of a fucking gutter. _Please_ tell me you've been pining away after me like some goddamn Romeo, because that would just be _golden_." Loki lets a grin spread over his face.

"I didn't say we didn't need each other. I said—I said _you_ didn't need _me_. And from the looks of things, I was right," snaps Thor.

Loki stares at Thor, taking in the red-rimmed eyes, the stubble, the dark circles. "If you needed me so badly then why the hell did you walk out on me?" he snarls.

"Because it was best for both of us!" bellows Thor, slamming Loki against the brick wall of the alley. Loki drops his cigarette.

"Best for both of us, my ass! Fucking look at yourself, Thor!" Loki grabs Thor's head, bringing his hands up, locked between Thor and the wall. "Look at yourself!"

"Loki," whispers Thor. "Loki. Please."

"I was better. With you." Loki feels Thor's hand drop to his waist. "Stop that," he snaps, and Thor tears his hands away from Loki like he's burned them. "We're in the middle of fucking Russia and you want to feel another man up in the street?"

Thor runs a hand down his face, looking like he's been slapped. "Shit. Sorry."

Loki turns on his heel and stalks away, knowing Thor will follow like he always does, will come up behind him and trail behind him back to his hotel room where they can at least try to make up, if they can't fuck ( _the walls are much too thin for that. Wait. Diplomatic immunity? Ha!_ )

He walks all the way out of the alley and down the street before realizing that there are no following footsteps, and nothing but cold wind is behind him.

Loki stops in the middle of the street, panic rising in his throat. Thor didn't follow him? Doesn't he care? Doesn't he want him? Who the hell does he think he is anyway?

He turns, furious, and runs back to the alley, terrified that Thor will still be there, terrified that Thor won't be there.

Thor is sitting on the step of some door, his head in his hands, and his shoulders are shaking.

 _Oh, my God,_ thinks Loki in shock. _He's crying._ It occurs to him that he's never actually seen Thor cry, not really. He stands there, staring, until Thor looks up at him with red wet eyes and sniffs loudly.

"Please go away," he rasps, his blue eyes as lifeless as his voice.

"Thor—"

"I don't want to hear it—"

"I—I shouldn't have spoken to you like that and I'm sorry," Loki says stiffly. "I was wrong."

Thor stares at him.

"Forgive me," Loki says, his throat thick and tight.

"You were right," Thor mumbles. "I needed you more than you needed me. I—what was I, a crutch? To you?" He sniffs again. "All I wanted was to make you happy—and that's why I left. Get some fucking sense knocked into your head."

"I—was _not_ okay for the first couple of days," Loki tells him, crouching at face level.

"Yeah, I figured. You get pissed and hurt and it burns out like a firecracker. All explosions and fifteen seconds later, nothing. I'm—I'm a fucking forest fire, everything's burning for months and it lasts too long." Thor's eyes go a little distant, and he wipes his nose.

"Didn't affect your qualifications for this, though," says Loki after a while. "I didn’t even know you were entering."

"I thought it would be a distraction. And it was. We play Japan on Wednesday. You—you should come." Thor tries to smile at him, but it turns out looking more like a grimace.

"This—me, I mean, having me here, this isn't going to affect your game, right?"

Thor rolls his eyes. "Don't flatter yourself," he says, but his tone is much warmer than before.

"I'll be there. And—and if you want to talk, I can come by later."

"I share a room with four other guys, I don't think that's going to go over very well," says Thor heavily.

"My trainer has a private room," says Loki, wiggling his eyebrows. "The benefits of a swift rise to fame, my friend."

"I'll let you know after that game," says Thor, and they both stand up. He holds out his hand, and Loki, feeling awkward, goes to shake it—but Thor pulls him into a warm hug. "I'm glad you're here," he says into Loki's hair, and Loki goes warm all the way down to his toes.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, if you've stuck with this story, to the very end.

In the post-game haze of cheering and screaming, after the U.S. beats Japan, after the lights have gone down in the arena and the people have gathered in the streets outside to celebrate—that's when Loki finds Thor, still in his gear, still smiling, still there.

"You were great!" he shouts, and ducks under someone's arm to bellow into Thor's ear. "Great save at the end!"

"It was all Fandral, he's the—"

"Shut up and stop being so humble. You make me sick," yells Loki with an earsplitting grin and Thor beams at him.

"Did you see me fall on my—" He's interrupted by a woman with a microphone from NBC and he immediately snaps to attention, answering her questions, smiling for the camera. Loki eases away quietly and out of the crowd as more people replace him, converging on the hero of the hour.

He looks at Thor for a second longer, then turns and walks away quietly down the street.

Loki's not angry, and that's something new: he's not jealous or upset that Thor can't be with him right that second. Just…resigned. Which, he thinks, is better than being angry. Not that it's bad to be angry, given an appropriate situation—but this is better, healthier—and he's suddenly happy that he can feel happy, if that makes any sense—

But it doesn't have to make sense to anyone but Loki, so he throws his head back and laughs into the dark sky over Sochi.

Behind him, a voice says, "Are you sure you're not on anything?"

He turns and Thor is there, still in his gear, still grinning. "It was a great game. I'm glad you won."

"Thanks," Thor says, and moves closer, smelling like sweat and metal. "Your trainer in tonight?"

"She's out all night and all morning. I've got the key. You want to head up there?"

"Yeah." Thor picks up his bag and follows Loki to the housing complex, up the elevator, and out to the top floor. Loki sends a quick text to Amora: **Will be in your room tonight. Too noisy outside here. I'll leave it spotless. X**

The phone buzzes: **Fine w me. whoever it is u have don’t let them into my underwear drawer. :P**

"This place is practically abandoned." Loki shuts the door behind Thor and flops into the chair by the bed. "Not the best planning for an Olympic village, huh?"

"I'm not complaining," says Thor lightly, and heads to the bathroom. "Out in a sec."

Loki tries to keep his heart rate down while Thor's in the shower. His whole body tingles with anticipation and his skin feels too small. He stands up, walks around, takes a few deep breaths, and stretches. Then he feels like an idiot. He's not running a race, for god's sakes, he's just going to—

Thor comes out, damp and naked, towel slung around his neck. He pauses when he sees the look on Loki's face. "Oh. Did you want to talk or did you w—"

Loki's up and across the room in seconds, grabbing the towel by both ends and dragging Thor down to kiss him, lips and teeth and tongue finding each other. "God, no. Talk after," he pants, and Thor nods before crushing his face back into Loki's, biting and nipping and swallowing down all Loki's moans.

"Bed," gasps Loki, and Thor turns and pins him against the wall.

"I'm nowhere near ready for a bed," he growls, and shoves his hand down Loki's pants. Loki squirms and cants his hips toward Thor as a hand cups his cock and slides his jeans down to his knees. "God, I missed you," Thor rumbles, and Loki relaxes as Thor kneels and kisses down his belly, his hips, bites at his sharp hipbone (not so sharp as it used to be) and presses kisses to the inside of his thighs, his legs, his cock.

Loki jolts and groans through his nose at the sensation. "Shit," he gasps, and grips Thor's hair. "Shit, it's been too long."

"Easy," says Thor, and that's the last thing he says before his mouth is full of Loki's cock, lips tight around it, cheeks hollowed.

Loki's legs are shaking and he doesn't think he's going to be able to stay standing if Thor keeps doing this, but he tries his best to stay vertical as Thor starts moving. "Shit. Thor. Jesus. I—I can’t—"

Thor's thumb traces a circle over his thigh and Loki groans again, jerks his hips and feels his dick hit the back of Thor's throat. "Fuck, sorry—"

Thor pulls off, swallows, breathes for a second, and stands up, looming over Loki. "Clothes off. Turn around," he says, and Loki undresses hurriedly and turns, chest pressed to the wall. Thor steps forward, presses his crotch to Loki's, and pins him to the wall, dragging his hands down his back, kissing and touching everything.

"I missed you too," he whispers, and Loki shivers as Thor nibbles at his ear. "You know that."

"Yeah," says Loki, and closes his eyes so he doesn't have to look at the blank white wall. "I know."

Thor huffs a gentle noise into his ear and turns him around. "Bed."

"Oh, _now_ he wants to go to bed," says Loki sarcastically, and that earns him a smack on the ass from Thor as he drags him toward the bed.

They tumble down on the mattress and for the next ten minutes it's all just kissing, unhurried and gentle and soft—until, of course, Loki can't take it anymore and flips Thor over, wild-eyed and shivering.

"Fuck me," he rasps, and Thor sits up.

"Lube," he says.

"In my bag." Loki watches Thor hunt for it, his eyes sliding down the curves of Thor's body, his thick muscles. "Don't take all day," he says lazily, and leans back, his eyes narrowed.

"You shut up," says Thor with a grin, and climbs back on the bed.

Loki spreads his legs, gripping the sheets in his fists as Thor presses one slick finger into him, twists a little, gently works him open. "Just one finger, then you fuck me. Please," he whispers.

"You sure?" Thor twists, and Loki squirms.

"Yes, _fuck_ , yes I'm sure."

"Okay. Give me a second." Thor twists a little more gently, stretching him a little more. "Good?"

Loki lets out a gasp as Thor hits his prostate. "God. Right there—Thor, fuck me, just, just—"

"All right, hold on." Thor withdraws his finger, leaving Loki to twitch around empty space for a second before Thor settles himself and slowly drives into him, bottoming out carefully as Loki's back arches and he groans, fingers clawing at the bed. "You okay?" Thor asks, clearly struggling to remember how to make words.

"Fuck," says Loki. "Me. Fuck me. Thor, fuck me."

Thor pins Loki down by the wrists and starts moving, tight little thrusts that pull his cock barely an inch out of Loki's ass before slamming back up against his prostate. "You—fucking—you're so tight—god, Loki, god—"

"Harder, fuck you, harder—" Loki's whining, he knows, begging and lifting his hips as much as he can. He doesn’t care. "Thor, Thor, _harder_ —"

Thor pushes him up against the headboard of the bed and pins him there, bent nearly in half, and starts in again, slamming him against the headboard, rocking the bed with every move. "Fuck," he spits, and buries his face in Loki's neck. "Loki. Loki."

Loki can't remember how to answer. He can't remember why he wants to answer. One hand is tangled in Thor's hair and the other one is flailing into the sheets and it feels like every cell in his body is straining towards orgasm. He manages to let out a pathetic whine and Thor bends down, sucks a mark into his neck, and that does it, absolutely that does it.

The bed thumps into the wall as Loki convulses, blindly grabbing for something to anchor himself as he comes.

His hands find Thor, and he holds on, meaningless noise tumbling out of his mouth before he goes limp and Thor lets him slip sideways onto the bed, still buried in his ass.

"Good," growls Thor, and Loki groans as Thor starts moving again, slow, lazy thrusts edging him towards orgasm.

"Thor," breathes Loki, and twists, trying to kiss him. "Th—"

Thor crushes his mouth to Loki's again and kisses him hard as he comes, groaning into Loki's mouth. Loki hums, and Thor goes limp, sagging over on top of Loki, trembling a little.

Both of them lie there for a minute. Loki rolls over and nestles closer to Thor, in the circle of his thick arms. "Missed you," he breathes.

"Missed you too," Thor rumbles, and presses a sweaty kiss to his forehead.

There's a long, comfortable silence, and Loki sighs and untangles himself from Thor reluctantly, stretching out on the bed. "Should we talk?" he wonders aloud, and Thor laughs.

"Only if you can stay awake long enough," he mumbles and burrows down into the covers, still naked.

"Nah," says Loki, and crawls under the covers with him. "Steal the blankets and I'll throw you out the window," he says with a grin, and Thor snorts and rolls over, taking most of the sheets with him.

They scuffle playfully for a second and end up pressed together under the sheets, sleepy and sore. "All I wanted to say," mumbles Loki, already half-asleep, "was thank you."

"What?" asks Thor.

"For letting me work myself out. On my own. I needed that. So, thank you." Loki sits up a little to prop his head up with his hand. "You're not going to die of shock at me apologizing, are you?"

Thor chuckles. "Nah." He runs a hand through his hair and smiles nervously at Loki. "All I wanted to say was that—uh, that I—that it was hard, you know, for me to leave. You. I—"

"Thor," says Loki, a little worried. "Spit it out."

"Uh," says Thor, and blushes from his hairline to his chest. "I love you."

In the infinite silence that follows, Loki can hear only his own heart threatening to pound right out of his chest and the blood whooshing in his ears. Thor stares at him with huge blue eyes, gnawing on his lower lip.

"Is…" he ventures, after a while, "…is that…okay?"

"I." Loki can't seem to find words. Everything he wants to say is flooding his mind all at once, every thought he's ever had—

_A million people have said that to me since Mom died and none of them meant it and  you, Thor, you are the only person who's ever said that to me who I have trusted absolutely meant it one hundred percent—you know when you break a bone sometimes you have to re-break it so it will heal correctly, isn't that the worst thing?_

_I don't even know when your birthday is—or your parents' names—or your dog's name—_

_Amora's going to kill me, I think I broke the headboard. At least her panties are safe. For now—_

"Loki? You okay?"

Loki realizes he's crying, huge wet tears dripping off his nose. He laughs, his voice trembling, and wipes his face. "I—I'm fine."

"You sure?" Thor sits up and Loki crawls into his lap without being invited, shaking and crying and laughing as Thor hugs him close.

"I'm better than I've been in a while," he says into Thor's chest. "I'm—I'm okay."

"Okay's good, right?"

"Okay's great. Perfect." Loki smiles and leans back. "It's perfect."

"Good." Thor looks relieved and Loki realizes he's waiting for affirmation.

"I—I love you too." The words are awkward and rusty from disuse and they seem to choke out of his throat, but Thor beams and kisses him and holds him tight and Loki smiles until he thinks his face is going to break.

"You should stay over on weekends," he says sleepily a few minutes later as they lie all tangled up in bed together. "Bring your dog."

"Yoly," supplies Thor helpfully. "His name's Yoly. Short for—"

"Oh, and we can practice together, hey! I didn't think of that—"

"What if we just buy an apartment in St. Paul?" Thor stretches out and Loki curls around him, listening to his heart beat slow and steady. "Crash there when we like. Our own place."

"Our own place," repeats Loki, and smiles. "Yeah, maybe."

"You wouldn't have to stay in the big empty house. You wouldn't have to be so alone." Thor takes Loki's hand and kisses it, all the fingers and the palm and the wrist.

"I'll consider it." Loki presses his lips to Thor's shoulder. "Let's get some sleep."

Thor nods. "Just—remember, okay? You don't have to be lonely anywhere, not even on the ice, not with me."

Loki's heart swells and he tries to fight tears. "Yeah. I—yeah."

Eventually, the only sounds are Thor breathing slowly and deeply and the occasional rustle of sheets. Loki shuts his eyes and drifts off, lulled by the quietness in his head (quiet for the first time in years).

 _There will be more tomorrow_ , he thinks as he drifts away. There will always be something new to see, to do—and he's going to see and do it all with Thor, or maybe without; either way is okay—and he'll do his best and hold on to everything he's got from here on out.

Loki closes his eyes, and sleeps.

~

Half a world away, snow begins to fall in Minneapolis, dusting across a street, a gate, a quiet graveyard.

A single grave stands under a leafless and gray oak tree, and up through the snow grows the long stalks of some yellow-flowered weed.

It's a strange sight to see, the watchman thinks as he pauses on his rounds and looks through the bars of the gate. Flowers don't usually grow in the middle of January, especially not in the snow, and these are a certain kind that usually are only found in summer—oh, he knows the name. Straw something. Bedstraw? Something like that.

He leans closer and sees something else. There are white roses, the wild kind, clinging to the headstone. He hadn't noticed them at first because they blended in with the snow and the granite—but there they are, frozen and delicate against the cold stone.

The watchman grunts and shrugs. It's a graveyard, and honestly, he's seen weirder things than this in his life.

He tucks his chin into his coat and walks away into the light snow, forgetting all about it in a few minutes.

_(Mothers do not forget._

_And they always, always forgive.)_


End file.
